Never A Dull Moment
by FallOutGrl02
Summary: Sherlock/Amy They met when she was just a little girl and he was spending the summer in a dull little town called Leadworth. He started out as her babysitter, but Sherlock Holmes would become so much more to Amelia Pond in years to come.
1. Dress Up & Bedtime Chemistry Lessons

**Hello! First venture in Sherlock, so don't hurt me if it turned out horribly! I've just been getting more and more obsessed with this pairing as time passes and plot bunnies were attacking my brain :P **

**This idea was going to be a oneshot, than a series of unrelated drabbles, but now I'm kinda leaning towards a full out story. So... Subscribe it up!(: Also, send in a review and I will give you a sneak peek to the next chapter.**

** So, this starts out with Amelia as 8 years old and Sherlock as 14. Enjoy! **

"Fine," a girl's voice huffed from outside, but the older boy could hear her Scottish accent loud and clear, "If you don't want to play anymore, then I'll just find someone else!"

"No one else is going to play with you!" a little English boy returned, "They're only going to laugh at you again. Can't we just play something else? We _always_ play 'Raggedy Doctor.'"

Sherlock Holmes listened from the inside of the house, fans going and fingers at the corner of a page in his Chemistry book. He didn't know how he had gotten himself into this. Well, he knew how he found himself spending the summer in Leadworth, but how had he become a _babysitter_? Sherlock immediately blamed Mycroft and his mother for volunteering him. Mother had started socializing with a woman named Sharon, who apparently had a disobedient niece that needed taking care of when she was away from home. Which was all the time. It was Sherlock's fourth day on the job, and it was all rather dull. He spent the first day observing, learning every little detail about everyone that entered that house. But it was more difficult than he thought it'd be. Some things didn't make sense to him, especially the little girl, Amelia Pond. She made absolutely no sense to Sherlock at all. She believed there were such things as aliens, yet she thought with almost as much logic and reason as Sherlock. He could tell that she really took that space stuff seriously. She really believed it.

"Sherly!" Amelia called, stepping into the door from the backyard where a big garden lay. That was where she usually played her games with a boy named Rory Williams, the one whining outside. He quite annoyed Sherlock, always acting afraid of him. Not to mention, he wasn't that smart. Amelia and her other friend, Mels, had abandoned him while playing hide-and-go-seek twice since Sherlock started babysitting, but he always believed them when they said it was an accident. He was gullible. Mels had only been over twice before, but from what Sherlock saw of her, he was a little worried. She acted older than her age and knew things that even Sherlock hadn't reached. There were also some psychopathic tendencies that he was seeing in her, so when she was around, the babysitter kept a good eye out. It was more for interest and curiosity than the safety of the child left in his charge, though.

"Yes, Amelia?" Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes at the nickname. Mycroft had mentioned it in front of the eight year old once and she had never let it go.

"Would you come play 'Raggedy Doctor' with me?"

Sherlock wasn't sure of what this game consisted of doing. He knew that there was a costume involved because of Rory's loud complaints every time Amelia had him suited up. He also knew that she wasn't allowed to play it in front of her aunt Sharon. She wasn't supposed to mention the Raggedy Doctor in front of the woman at all. Apparently, Sharon was worried for Amelia's mental state and was sending her to psychiatrists. Sherlock remembered his first day when he had been told of Amelia's biting habits and how that had brought the end to two psychiatrists. "No."

Amelia stepped closer to him, sugar-coating her voice, "Please, Sherlock?"

"Um… No," he repeated, not even lifting his eyes from the page. The idea of playing with someone 6 years younger than Sherlock was preposterous, even if it were someone like Amelia, who at least _tried_ to keep up with him in conversation. He didn't even want to think of Mycroft's face if he ever saw them. Which he probably would.

Amelia frowned angrily before ripping the book out of his hands, running to the other side of the room. "Come with me or the book gets it."

"Amelia!" Sherlock cried, rising up from the couch, "Give me the book! Now!"

"Um… No!"

"I'm in charge!"

"So?" Amelia shrugged, "A lot of people have been put in charge of me. What makes you think I listened to them?" That was another part that confused Sherlock. Amelia was always getting into trouble. She was a good girl when she wanted to be, but he could tell she didn't like being controlled. She didn't like being ordered around like the child she really was.

"I'm not playing around, Amelia."

"I know! That's the point! Please, Sherly!" she begged, slouching her shoulders and sticking out her lips in a pout, "Or I'll tell Aunt Sharon about the dead rat in that plastic bag in the back of the freezer."

"It's an experiment!" Sherlock argued.

"It's weird," Amelia corrected. The little girl stared into the older boy's eyes, green meeting blue. It was a really pretty blue, she noted. Her favorite color was blue, though a different shade. A darker, more specific shade. Still, his was nice too. Sherlock's skin was pale and smooth-looking, mostly due to his lack of exposure to the outside world, unlike Amy whose skin was colored with light freckles. She tossed her red hair back, not looking away, ready to win that staring competition.

Sherlock didn't budge for a while, and she could tell he was as in it to win it as she was. But after a few minutes of silence, he exhaled, a little irritated and walked past her, opened the door, and made his way into the garden. "Are we doing this or not?" he asked, irritably, "I'm giving you an hour."

"Two hours!"

"I wouldn't push it if I were you, Miss Pond."

Amelia grinned to herself and hopped outside, feeling the warm summer breeze rustle her skin. How could Sherlock want to stay inside her big, empty house when there was all this outside? "Rory, give Sherlock the costume," Amelia ordered, "He's going to play the Raggedy Doctor today."

"What?" Rory whimpered, looking at the boy with curly black hair nervously, "He's playing?"

"Yup," she replied, popping the "p" like she always did, "So, hand over the tie."

"But I always play the Raggedy Doctor!"

"You were just whining about how you were tired of playing him," Amelia pointed out, "You can be Prisoner Zero today."

"Who the blazes is Prisoner Zero?" Sherlock turned to Amelia, confused, and held up his costume, "And why do I have to wear this ripped up shirt?"

"Because," she replied, simply, "You get to play the Raggedy Doctor. You come for me with your time machine and we try to stop Prisoner Zero from taking over the world together. And then you'll take me in your blue ship and we'll go have adventures on all the stars!" Sherlock sighed. What had he gotten himself into?

_THAT NIGHT_

"Your aunt's going to be home soon," Sherlock said, back in the comfortable spot on his couch, book in hand. Amelia sat on the love seat adjacent to him, scribbling away on paper while the telly played. "You should get to bed."

"She doesn't get home until really late," Amelia replied, continuing her drawing, "She's too busy hanging out with that man friend of hers."

"How do you know she's hanging out with a man?"

"Who else would she be with so late?" Amelia returned, "Not to mention, she takes _hours_ to get ready."

Sherlock smiled softly. This girl noticed more than he thought she did. She was actually quite smart for her age, not like Mels though. Mels was freaky smart. Like Sherlock, except he had a feeling there was a weirder reason than his, which was really just boredom and lack of anyone to keep good conversation with. Even back home in London, Sherlock Holmes was a friendless 14 year old. Usually during the summers, he'd just play with his chemistry set, but Mother had insisted that a good, quiet summer in a small country town would be much nicer than one in the bustling city. She called Leadworth relaxing, but the only word her youngest son could use to describe the place was dull. "Still," he went on, trying to be the responsible babysitter they both knew he wasn't, "It's late. And humans, especially children, need a regular eight hours of sleep every night."

"You're a child, too."

"Hardly." Sherlock looked up from his book and saw Amelia staring at him. She didn't look away when he caught her eye. "Go on upstairs and get ready for bed."

Her eyes widened. Was that fear Sherlock was detecting? Of course it was. He was hardly ever wrong upon first observation. But why was she scared? She didn't seriously believe in there being monsters under her bed. "Can I just sleep down here, Sherly?"

"Why?"

Amelia didn't know how to tell Sherlock. She knew that the crack that had once been on her bedroom wall a year before was closed, but she didn't forget the Doctor's words nor what the voice had said on the other side.. _Prisoner Zero has escaped_. And she knew what the Doctor was getting at. It had escaped through her bedroom. Ever since, she felt a little watched, but whenever she turned around, there was absolutely no one there. "I just want to," she answered, not coming up with a clever answer. She didn't want Sherlock thinking she was afraid of the dark or anything. Because she wasn't. Amelia Pond was a brave little girl. The Doctor had told her so. The only thing the Scottish girl was afraid of was that crack and whatever it had done or brought into her life.

Sherlock didn't answer her at first, wondering what could possibly hurt. If her aunt came home, he could just say she passed out while watching the TV. Still, the Amelia had won more than one fight that day, and he didn't want her forgetting that he was the authority figure. He didn't remember changing his mind for someone so much as he had for Amelia in the past week. Maybe it was just because she fought him as hard as he fought her. It got pretty exhausting sometimes. "Just this once," he relented, "But you're not doing it the next time I babysit you." They both knew there would be a next time. There was still a month and a half of summer left and Sharon probably stayed home twice out of the seven days of the week. And for some reason, Sherlock was the first person that woman called to watch her niece.

He could feel Amelia's triumphant grin as she rushed upstairs to get changed and brush her teeth, coming back down with a blanket and pillow in hand. The two continued to sit in silence, the only noise coming from the turning of a page, the cartoon on the telly that both had already tuned out, and the scraping of colored pencil against paper. "Why are you reading that Chemistry book? It must be boring." Another thing Sherlock had learned about Amelia was that she didn't really like silence.

"Why are you drawing the same thing you always draw?" Sherlock retorted. Even though he hadn't even seen what the little girl was drawing, he was sure he could guess exactly what it was. It was the same as the pictures that were taped up on her bedroom walls, the same as the picture she'd drawn every night he came over. It was always something related to the Doctor, little cartoons of him and her fighting aliens and going around in a blue time machine. Sherlock recognized it as a police phone box used in the early '60s that he had seen in a book once before.

"There's nothing else interesting to draw," she sniffed, not even having to admit that Sherlock was right. She knew he knew he was right. Amelia had ceased to be shocked over his weird capabilities to read people like open books. All it gave him was a bigger ego and her a bigger headache of a babysitter.

"There's nothing else interesting to read."

"That's not true! Chemistry is boring."

"How would you know?" Sherlock snorted, "You're only eight years old. You probably don't even know who Albert Einstein is yet."

"Yeah, he's that weird guy with the funny hair. Sort of like you, Sherly," Amelia teased, sticking out a tongue.

"Ha ha. Very funny," he replied sarcastically, subconsciously taking a dark curl in one of his pale hands.

"Will you read it to me?"

"I thought you said it was boring."

"Yeah, and I'm going to prove it to you when I fall asleep after the first sentence."

"You won't understand any of it," said Sherlock.

"Says you," Amelia retorted.

With a heavy sigh, the teenage boy began reading about moles and empirical formulas, about chemical and physical compounds, while Amy ripped a new paper from her pad and began another drawing. At first, it made Sherlock want to stop reading seeing as she wasn't paying a single piece of attention, but then she would start to ask questions as he read that were quite relevant to the material he was talking about.

"Why do we need to know this stuff, anyways?" Amelia asked with a yawn as she put her colored pencils back in their case and laid the pictures down on the coffee table by her head, then snuggling deeper into the cushions of the loveseat.

"You think it'd be better if we just walked around without knowing our surroundings?" Sherlock replied, but his tone was more amused than harsh, which is what it would have been had anyone else asked him such an ignorant question. "Some of this helps solve crimes, too. That's what I'm going to do, someday."

"So, you'll join the police?" Amelia smiled, imagining the lean boy driving around in cop cars and shoving a badge in everyone's face, "Like a detective?"

"No, that involves relying on other people," Sherlock explained, "Besides, considering the amount of unsolved cases we have now, I'm assuming the police force is filled with complete idiots. I'll be more independent, I suppose. And they'll come to me for help."

"So…" Amelia guessed again, voice slow as she tried to think of a name for whatever Sherlock dreamed of being, "Like… A consulting detective?"

Sherlock smiled, though Amelia couldn't see it. He liked the term she used. _Consulting detective_. It sounded nice. It had a nice professional ring to it that said exactly what it meant. "Yes, exactly, Amelia," he agreed, "While you're off having adventures in the stars with your Doctor, I'll be becoming England's first and only consulting detective."

"Don't forget the best," Amelia added with a laugh, knowing she'd probably regret the compliment in a few seconds. To her surprise, her babysitter said nothing, laughing shortly before turning the page and reading the next chapter. It wasn't long before he could hear her breathing slow and he knew that his words of formulas and elements had finally lulled the little redhead to sleep. It wasn't long before Sharon showed up, cheeks flushed at sweet words probably still replaying in her head and her body reeking of a mixture between her fruity perfume and a man's musky cologne. Amelia was undoubtedly right about her aunt's whereabouts.

"Good evening, Sherlock," the woman smiled, "I hope she behaved well."

"She was great," he replied, feeling echoes of the smile that had once been. He hadn't ever really smiled before, not a smile that felt this nice and didn't feel so fake as his other ones.

"Good. You know how she can be," Sharon went on as Sherlock stood up from the couch and marked his place with a book. He passed by the loveseat, something catching his eye. It was her second drawing. And it was him. He picked it up to further inspect it. The figure with black curls was sitting on a couch, mouth wide open with a book in hands. Next to him was a little girl with red hair, eyes closed with little "Z"s coming out of her mouth. "Amelia is really something else, sometimes."

The smile returned on Sherlock's face as he folded up the drawing into neat rectangles before making a decent size bookmark. "Yes, she really is, isn't she?"

**Reviews are definitely awesome. So... You should do it(:**


	2. Above Goodbyes

**Hello! Back with another chapter! I didn't really think that anyone would read this, because... Well, because it's my first time really writing Sherlock, but I've been getting good feedback so far, so hopefully I keep it up and/or improved? :P**

**This next chapter is around the same time as the first one, just at the end of summer. I will definitely have them meet when they're older, but I'm really unsure of how far I'm going. I'm going to try to make it all the way through Series 6 of Doctor Who and Series 2 of Sherlock, but we'll just have to wait and see!(: ENJOY! **

The night air was warm and the grass was perfectly soft from beneath him as blue eyes stared into the night sky, lying next to little Amelia. Her aunt wasn't home yet and they had just finished dinner. Usually, Sharon left something for Sherlock to microwave, but that night she had been running late. The teenage boy had never cooked in his life, but Amelia said she was pretty good at it, so he let her have a go in the kitchen. At first, she had tried selling him on fish fingers and custard, and though Sherlock never really ate food for the taste and more for the fact that it was necessary to live, he didn't think he could quite swallow fish covered in custard. But Amelia wouldn't give up, getting fed up with his protests that she just grabbed the ice cream and a spoon and began digging her way to the bottom of the carton. A few scoops in, she'd given her babysitter an invitational glance, shoving a second spoon towards him. Sherlock had only shrugged, knowing this wasn't totally nutritious, but caring more about the fact that he had won the argument and gotten out of eating fish fingers and custard.

"You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?" Amelia asked, breaking the boy from his thoughts. It was the end of summer and school started for Sherlock in a week. Mother had already left and it was just Mycroft in the big house with Sherlock, everything packed for the early morning departure. Even though they both knew this, not one had mentioned it. She had said the one thing neither had wanted to. He was never really good at dealing with emotions and goodbyes. He was sort of like his mother in that aspect. And Amelia just didn't want to watch another friend leave her.

"Yes," he replied, shortly, stealing a quick glance at the little girl. He expected to hear her start to snivel and whine about how this might be the last time they saw each other, that no one else was going to be able to play her Raggedy Doctor when Rory started to get on her nerves.

He should have known Amelia wouldn't react as he expected. She never did. "What's London like?" she inquired, pure curiosity in her voice. He knew that she yearned for the day she could escape this small town.

"Much better than Leadworth. The crime rates are higher," Sherlock remarked, "Everything's bigger there and there's always something to do or someone to see. I think you'd like it. Since you're always complaining about how there's nothing to do here."

"There isn't!" Amelia groaned, crossing her arms and looking up at the sky, grumpily. Why hadn't her Raggedy Doctor returned for her yet? It had been way more than five minutes. It had been 15 months since that night. And still there was no sign of him. The little girl shook her head, softly, knowing that she had to keep hope. "Someday, I'm going to see it all for myself," she murmured, "I'll go everywhere and anywhere. It won't just be London. I'm going to the stars. Every single one of them."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He didn't give her any looks or disappointed noises. He just continued staring up at the stars Amelia said she would one day reach. He wondered if what she was saying was true. It was highly improbable, of course. Why would an alien come down to _Leadworth_ of all places? Sherlock wasn't going to deny that there was a huge possibility of there being life out there. It was totally likely. With all those different galaxies and billions and billions of planets? The chances of humans being the only living things in the universe at that very point in time was highly unlikely.

Amelia, as if sensing the debate he was having in that big brain of his, turned to face the boy with black curls, laying on her side, head held up by her elbow. "Do you think I'm crazy, Sherly?" she asked, eyes narrowing. She hoped for best response and prepared for the worst. The only two people who believed the little girl were Mels and Rory, and even Rory had his days where he wondered just how long they were going to have to keep up with these games.

"You're not crazy, Amelia," he answered, turning his own body to face hers, "You don't show any symptoms of any mental illnesses or diseases other than hallucinations, but that's only if we're dismissing your night with the Doctor as such."

"And we aren't?" Her lips turned up into a giant smile, contagious enough that it even caused a little twitch of the right corner of Sherlock's mouth. "But doesn't this all sound ridiculous to you?" He was all about logic and facts, but the whole incident with the Doctor showed neither of those things. Amelia found it quite shocking that her friend wasn't completely bursting into cocky laughter like he had whenever Rory said something completely stupid.

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

"What does that mean?"

"Once you get rid of the things you know not to be true," explained Sherlock, "The only thing left _must_ be true. Even if it's the daftest thing. I know you're not crazy, Amelia Pond. I've read every single medical book in my library back home in London. You don't lie when you tell it either. I can tell. You don't fidget or fuss. You don't avoid speaking in first person and you even admit that you don't have the answers for everything that happened. So, if you're not lying and you're not completely mental, what other option does that leave us with?"

"I can't believe you're not laughing at me," Amelia giggled, lying back down and facing the stars, "I'm going to miss having you around, Sherlock. But don't worry. When he comes back for me, I'll make him stop in London. His blue box can go _anywhere_. And you can meet him and come with us on adventures!"

Sherlock snorted. "Thanks for the offer, but I think London's really the place for me."

"But you could go to past London from a hundred years ago," she pointed out, "You could go back and use all your future Chemistry stuff to solve their crimes."

"Like Jack the Ripper," Sherlock mused, his heart skipping a beat at the possibility of being able to solve one of the biggest murder cases in England ever. He would be able to use all his knowledge and modern day science equipment, and surely, he'd be able to find the man that no detective ever could in those days.

Amelia laughed again, observing how the thought of seeking out a vicious murderer was like a precious dream to the odd boy lying next to her. She really was going to miss him, but the little girl didn't want to ruin the moment with tears. Besides, the redhead was never really good with sharing her feelings. Not when she was sad, anyways. "Do you think you'll come back next summer?"

Sherlock contemplated lying to Amelia. He could say that his mother had taken quite a liking to this place and decided it would be the best summer destination for years to come. Half of that wasn't a lie, at least. Mother liked their time in Leadworth, but she almost never went to the same place. The summer before, she had _loved _the idea of staying on the beach for a summer, and the year before, she hadn't seen a single problem with London in the summer time. Her moods were always changing, and Sherlock knew that they probably wouldn't be back to the countryside anytime soon. If at all. By the time his mother was into country living, he'd probably be moved out and attending university. But Amelia was already waiting for one friend to return to her, and he didn't feel it was right to do the same thing. After a few moments, Sherlock finally answered, "I don't think so, Amelia."

They both avoided eye contact to avoid the emotion showing in her eyes that they both knew were there. She was losing another friend and they both knew it. Sherlock was losing the only one he had ever made. He hadn't known they were friends until it was already too late to analyze, leaving him wondering how he had missed it. One day, the teenager had asked her what a friend was, at least in her opinion.

"_I don't know_," she had shrugged, scribbling a picture of Sherlock and Rory and herself playing in her aunt's garden, "_I guess it's someone who you want to spend time with, because they make you feel better than you really are. Why?"_

He hadn't given her a reply, just a small smile that Amelia seemed to understand perfectly well. And now here they were, and Sherlock couldn't help but hate the fact that Mycroft was right all those times he had told his little brother not to get close to people, that it didn't help anything. But Amelia was right, too. When he was around her, he actually felt like a human with actual feelings and it was actually sort of nice. That night, though, as two friends silently said goodbye, still staring into the night, he couldn't help but forget the good times and only remember the bad, which was this moment. The moment he got up, wordlessly, and made his way out of the gate. The moment she let him walk away, propping herself up on her hands and watching him leave. The moment she called out, "Good night, Sherly," and the moment he replied with "Good night, Amelia." That moment when he turned around and stole one glance at her before vanishing into the darkness. A moment before, Sherlock had had a friend. A moment before, Sherlock liked the idea of being human. But as he began his journey home, the teenage boy found himself once again friendless and wanting to never feel like this again. Sherlock wanted to be above these emotions and the stupidity all humans seemed to have, that he had had when he had let himself get close and form a friendship to the little Scottish girl. Being a stupid human controlled by emotions… No. Sherlock needed to focus. He was better than that. He was better than all of it.

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	3. That'll Cost You Extra

**I wrote this chapter late in the night last night because I was just having SO many Sherlock/Amy feels, and I'm kind of getting rather impatient in posting it! Just because I love updating! And I really like how this chapter turned out, as well! So... It's been ten years since the last chapter and... Well, the rest you shall learn from the words below! ENJOY!**

**Ooh, and review=sneak peek. Just reminding you. It's going to be like that for EVERY chapter unless I actually say otherwise!**

It was his birthday, his 24th birthday. He wasn't sure who had found it out, but they had spread it to the rest of the police force. The consulting detective was relatively new to his job and he hadn't warmed up to a single person working on the force. But they knew that he was good at what he did. Sherlock Holmes was the first and only consulting detective in the world. And let's not forget the best. They had just solved a big case, though he hadn't taken any credit despite the fact that without him, they'd still be out there making false accusations and missing the most crucial of evidence. Anyways, they were all at a small pub, Sherlock, a few officers, Lestrade, and even Sally and Anderson. Even though Sherlock was just starting out, already he could tell that he rubbed these two the wrong way.

Music played in the background, something the man with black curls didn't quite recognize. He hardly listened to any other music but that of his violin. It helped him think. It was something with a smooth sound and steady beat and Sally sang along with it merrily, one hand draped over an officer and the other clumsily clasping onto a bottle of beer. The air smelled of alcohol and sweat and pixie lights that hung from the ceiling were the only source of light in the bar. Sherlock sat at the bar in a backless bar stool that swiveled around, separate from everyone else despite it being a celebration for him. He knew these idiots would get drunk for anything. The man silently sipped on his own drink, trying to ignore the thin layer of grime that covered the counter.

His thoughts were consumed about the case he had just solved, about the surge of adrenaline as he had chased down the man responsible for the murder of four women, the complete boost in his ego as the case was solved and it was proved that he was right all along. It was all fading, though, and returning to the dull and bleak outlook Sherlock had grown accustomed to. He really loved his job, but the highs of it never seemed to last long, not when there wasn't someone to celebrate victory with him other than those idiots across the room from him.

Lestrade was lounging in a chair around the large table of his men, grin on his face as they made dirty jokes and poked fun at one another. He knew he wouldn't have solved this case had it not been for the new addition of Sherlock Holmes. So, when Sally and Anderson had given him a little idea to surprise Sherlock, the man quickly agreed. If anything, it'd be a good laugh, something they wouldn't forget about for _years_. And just as Lestrade thought about it, the bar door burst open, and in came the person the three partners in crime had been waiting for.

"Hello, boys," a female voice purred in a Scottish accent, and suddenly the music switched from a very lazy song to one Sherlock assumed was what played at the nightclubs that people his age went to. He swiveled around in his chair to see a woman standing in the doorway and Anderson over by the radio, empty CD case in hand. She was wearing a police outfit, though the skirt she was wearing was far shorter than Sherlock had ever seen on any of the women he had worked with. Her hair was up in a hat and her eyes scanned the room with a devilish smirk. Though he hated to admit it, even to himself, Sherlock didn't know what the hell was going on. He just continued to stare at her long legs and the way the light of the pixie lights hit her pale skin. "So," she said over the music, "Which one of you lot is the birthday boy?"

There were immediate guffaws and shouts as everyone pointed to Sherlock, who was just starting to put things together. And hating exactly what he assumed she was. Honestly, whose idea was it to get him a _kissogram_? He took one look at Anderson and didn't have to assume any longer. That bastard was going to pay when this was through. But thinking about what he was going to do to that complete idiot was instantly put on hold when the kissogram made her way over to him, licking her lips and swaying her hips to the beat. "Alright, everyone. The joke is over," Sherlock cried, trying desperately to be heard over the noise and his heart quickening as she neared. There was nowhere for him to go and the young consulting detective couldn't help but feel utterly trapped. "Lestrade!" he shouted, trying to find _someone _to help him out of this predicament. It wasn't that the girl wasn't attractive. She had a lot of physical attributes to her that Sherlock was sure any man would enjoy. But he wasn't like this. He certainly wasn't big on the heavy touching, and lap dances _definitely_ went into the category of heavy touching. "Lestrade, stop this!"

"Not my division!" Lestrade answered, grinning from ear to ear as he watched Sherlock's face turn completely red and flustered.

"Don't worry, I don't bite," she smiled, closing the distance between her and her client, "That'll cost you extra."

"I don't really thi-" But the birthday boy was cut short when she grabbed his blue scarf and pulled his face to hers, lips meeting lips. At first, all he could hear were cheers from the force, but then everything seemed to slow and Sherlock couldn't for the life of him figure out why this was lasting so long, if it always was like this, and why the hell wasn't he pulling away? He was sure that kissograms didn't kiss like this, and if they did, he could see the appeal. When it ended, she slightly staggered back, and he knew that her heart was racing at a million miles per hour and that her whole body was shaking, just like his. He could feel the stares from everyone in the room, knowing they would never let him live down the fact that Sherlock Holmes had just outright snogged a bloody kissogram.

"Well," she swallowed, nodding her head, "See? Wasn't that bad, was it? Now. What do they call you, birthday boy?"

"Uh-"

"Sherlock Holmes!" an officer's voice boomed, his inability to control his voice clearly indicating he was intoxicated, "Our new consultin' detective! Happy birfday, mate!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but they quickly refocused on the woman he had just kissed. They were still incredibly close, her hands on his shoulders and his own gripping her arms. Her eyes widened. "S-Sherlock Holmes?" The way she said his name felt all too familiar. "Oh my God."

"Do I know you?" he asked, searching her features. He felt like could just about grasp it, but there was something missing, something else that would totally connect the link. The little bit of alcohol he had was beginning to numb his senses, but only just around the edges.

"You don't know who I am? You don't recognize me?"

"No, sorry."

He watched the young girl contemplate for a moment, maybe deciding whether or not it was a good idea to reveal her identity, but all of a sudden, she moved away and smoothed her costume, that playful smirk back on her face. He almost expected her to continue with her job. But she didn't. The kissogram lifted her hand up and threw her hat at Sherlock, who managed to catch it, despite the fact that he was totally distracted by a flash of red. He watched those fiery locks fall in gentle waves onto her shoulders, and then Sherlock realized that that was the missing feature. And he had already linked it. "A-Amelia?"

"Hello, Sherly."

He didn't move. He didn't blink. And for a second, Sherlock wondered if he was even breathing. His mind was racing, realizing what he had just done. Sherlock had just kissed _Amelia Pond_, his childhood friend. He had just kissed the girl who made him dress up as her Raggedy Doctor, pointed out stars in the night sky and talked about the adventures she'd have there, the girl who called his experiments weird and rolled her eyes probably a hundred times a day. This was Amelia Pond, a girl who was six years younger than him, only 18. She was the little girl he used to babysit. And she was the girl that had just kissed the Hell out of Sherlock Holmes.

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	4. She's A Problem To Solve

**Hola, amigos! :D Sorry for the week long interval thing. There were a lot of directions this could have taken and I sort of wrote them all then chose the one I most liked. ^_^ So, here it is. The aftermath of Sherlock finding out that Amelia Pond is his kissogram.**

**I'd also like to remind you that I own NONE of the characters depicted in this story!(: Ooh. And I'm doing song lyrics for titles now. Because I'm hip and cool and stuff. This one is from "Ultraviolet" by The Stiff Dylans.**

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, stupidly, though it was quite clear what Amelia was doing at the bar.

"Working," she shrugged, like it was nothing. He deduced that she wasn't new at this. The confidence that Scottish redhead had brought into that room when she had first swung the door open, not to mention the flippancy about it, seemed to indicate that Amelia Pond was quite used to her job as a kissogram _and_ the passing remarks. "Bad news for you, though" she sighed, fake pity on her face, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. Sherlock tried blocking out the memory of how soft her mouth had been against his. This was _Amelia_ and though he may be drunk, he knew it wasn't suitable to think of her like this, to think of anyone like this. He was married to his job. Emotions and relationships just complicated things even more and made things all the more difficult. Hence why he put himself above all that.

"What?"

"Your friends are cheap," Amy smirked. She couldn't help but remember that that was _much_ more than a kiss. The fact that it was Sherlock made it all the more confusing, though she wouldn't necessarily call it a bad thing. Unlike Sherlock, Amy wasn't thinking about how wrong their kiss was. She was just plain stupefied that he even knew _how_ to kiss, let alone so bloody damn well. She'd had her fair share of kisses, but that was definitely one to beat.

The redhead leaned back over Sherlock, who was still slightly cowering in what some would call shock and what others would call slight fear. The people on the force had stopped watching the man in the dark coat and mussed up, blue scarf, and all eyes were glued to Amy as she bent over, the tight skirt giving them a good idea of what could be underneath. Sherlock, as he always did, had taken notice, but was too preoccupied with the lack of proximity of the two. He wondered if Amelia was doing this on purpose, looking so irresistible to all the males in the room (not including himself, of course). Moments later, after a pale arm had snaked up his leg and over to his hand, Amy swiped her hat, giving him a devilish grin as she turned her back. It was then that Sherlock began to realize what she had meant. This idea was probably Donovan and/or Anderson's, but it was Lestrade's money that went into it. Sherlock had observed that the grown man was on a bit of a tight budget, what with the calls that usually turned into stressed fights with his wife over the phone, the cheap knock-off cologne he wore, and the reluctance he had with helping pay the tab at the bar that very night. Amelia's job was done. She was leaving.

It took him a few seconds to piece it together, to wonder whether or not he should chase after her, because he should be _glad_ Lestrade had only paid for a kiss. And he was, but something inside Sherlock told him to go after her. Maybe it was the mystery, the questions that popped up into his head, demanding to be answered and all concerning a young Scottish woman that had just walked out of the door. "Wait!" Sherlock cried, running towards the door to catch up with her in the parking lot outside, "Amelia!"

"You can't take her home with you, mate!" Anderson joked from the other side of the room, beer bottle in hand as he leered over at Sherlock with his rat-like face that Sherlock was really starting to despise. He threw him a glare before he exited the bar and was greeted by a cool gush of air on that London night.

"You following me, Holmes?" a Scottish voice called, and he immediately followed the sound to a car a few spaces down, window rolled down and Amelia's face beaming at him. She was really enjoying this, he could tell. "By the way, it's Amy now."

"What was wrong with 'Amelia'?" he wondered aloud, breathing slightly ragged as he jogged to the car. Sherlock was mystified by this redhead, and he knew that he always loved a mystery, but this felt different somehow. What would be the point of solving her? Would it benefit him any? The answer seemed to be "no," but that didn't stop Sherlock from accepting the ride home.

* * *

><p>"A bit fairy tale?" he repeated, looking at Amy with the oddest expression, "No, I will not call you 'Amy.'"<p>

"Why not?" she asked, mouth agape in slight offense, "It's just as good as 'Amelia'!"

"_Wrong_."

"What if I stop calling you 'Sherly'?"

"You're not going to," Sherlock said, knowingly, scowling at the memory of the name no one but Mycroft called him anymore. It never seemed to really bother him when Amelia said it, but it also did in a complicating way. The name irritated him, but the fact that it was her alone that called him by that name made it seem a bit comfortable, especially if you were young and making your first and only friend you'd ever had.

"Yeah, you're right," she grinned, turning her head to look over at her old friend.

"Who's car is this?" Sherlock asked, suddenly, "It's not yours. It smells like hand soap and hospitals in here. Not to mention the décor. A personality as… Loud… As yours would be expressed _somewhere_ in here, would it not? And the seat and mirror are all wrong. You've had to readjust it more than once just in this one car ride. Your handling on the turns suggests you're also not used to the steering wh-"

"You are _such_ a show off," Amy laughed, totally interrupting his rant. He usually did that silently, but now that he was slightly intoxicated, Sherlock was starting to feel a personal mission to prove that he was still very clear-headed. "It's Rory's car, if you must know. He let me borrow it for the night, even though he says I'm a complete _maniac_ on the road."

"Ah, Rory," Sherlock muttered, already feeling the irritation for the idiotic boy start to flare up again. But now there was a twinge of something else, something quite foreign to our young detective. He couldn't quite put a name to it, seeing as feelings weren't really Sherlock's department, but felt as though something was at the pit of stomach, trying to fight its way out of his throat. The name for it, unbeknownst to the man, was jealousy. "He doesn't mind your… Occupation?"

"Uh, well, sort of," Amy replied, glancing toward Sherlock with a clever look in her eye, "But it's none of his business. Besides, you of all people should know, Sherly, I don't take orders."

"I just assum-"

"You're _always _assuming," she interrupted, teasingly, "And if you're so good at noticing things, then tell me how you never saw Rory was _gay_?" Amy had been asked on more than one occasion if she were more than just friends with her childhood friend, Rory Williams. Mostly it was Mels that was teasing or her aunt that was sort of _pressuring_ her to be with him. Aunt Sharon was definitely a Rory fan. He was normal with dreams of becoming a proper doctor, not one that flew around in a blue time machine, a man made completely from the mind of a bored, little girl who was new to town with no other friends to play with. Still, Amy knew that her friend wasn't into her like that, so she had never entertained the idea of _her_ being interested in _him_.

"Wrong," the man in the passenger seat sighed, shaking his head. Amy peeked from the corner of her eye, the movement of his black curls catching her attention for a brief second before she returned to looking at the road. "Tell me, what evidence have you gotten?"

"He's never actually been with a girl," she pointed out.

"Obviously. Have you seen his nose?" Sherlock said, "Or did his face catch up?"

Amy tried to stop herself from laughing, but Sherlock could see her pearly whites lit up by the streetlights out on that busy London street. "But he's never even _liked _a girl," Amy argued, "He's never talked about one he fancied or anything."

"So? The same thing could be said about me and I'm not-" Sherlock saw her smile grow wider. "Did you think _I_ was?"

"No, it's not that!" Amy quietly laughed, "I just- I always sort of saw you as… _Asexual_. Now the mystery's gone." That image was blown after she had kissed him. Because _no one_ was that good the first time. There were no signs of inexperience or sloppiness on his account, and the fact that it had made the redhead so weak in the knees so fast… _Anyways_, Sherlock had definitely had some experience. She felt a little miffed when she had first realized that he was just as good, if not better, at kissing than her. She had known Sherlock when he was a teenager and he had never expressed any interest in the older girls that hung about Leadworth and tried flirting with him when they were in town buying something or on their way to go get Rory or Mels. So, he finally gave in, did he? Amy wondered what kind of woman could have been the one to get him out of his shell. She had to be absolutely smart and brave and witty and beautiful, a girl that would definitely set the bar high for anyone else that wanted to give it a go. N-not that Amy would, of course.

Sherlock gave a small smirk, one that he had been holding in the whole night. "Sorry to spoil the _mystery_ for you, Amelia. I can tell you one thing, though. Rory isn't gay."

"And what makes you say that?"

"Your attempts at using the science of deduction is really rather cute and endearing, but let's not forget who the _real_ consulting detective is. There's the fact that Ror-"

"Oi, speaking of which!" Amy cried, interrupting Sherlock. Again. She turned a corner that he had indicated with a pointed finger. "_I _made up the name! Don't you think I deserve a little payment? As the creativity department?"

"What on Earth does the name have to do with anything?" Sherlock replied, expression incredulous, "It's not like I'm _selling_ the title or anything. I'm _the_ consulting detective, the one and only."

"Let's not forget the best," she murmured, taking another corner. She hadn't thought Sherlock had heard it, but he did. The smirk that he had been holding in all night broke from his lips, unable to control itself. As if it were calling to her, Amy turned to look around, her own smile returning. There was nothing like Sherlock's smiles. They were small and fleeting, gone as soon as they appeared, and happened ever so rarely. During that summer, little Amelia had tried to see how many times she could get him to do it. Sometimes, they were failures and not even his icy blue eyes would light up with amusement, and other times she would find him lifting both corners of his mouth into an almost grin that stayed on for about 4 seconds before it went back to his neutral expression.

"I have another question..."

"Of course you do," Amy said, throwing in an eye roll, "What is it?"

"_Why_ are you doing this? You could do anything you set your stubborn mind to and you know it. So why a kissogram?"

Amy's smile remained. She knew what he was doing. Sherlock was trying to analyze her. It was stupid, because they both knew that Amy just loved keeping people on their toes. Sometimes, she even surprised _herself_ with the stupid things she'd do. Of course, none of it was as crazy as the stunts that Mels pulled, but it would be a lie if Amy were to be called innocent. "Why not?"

"But you had all those dreams when we were kids," Sherlock went on, "You always talked about that Raggedy Doctor of yours and how you were going to go up in space with him."

"Yeah, and?" The young detective noticed that her smile was gone and her grip was tightening on the steering wheel. This was a bad subject for her. Why? Did the psychiatrists finally get to her? No, because then she wouldn't be having such a reaction. If they had finally gotten to her, Amelia would have just laughed it off or something. But she wasn't. Sherlock could tell this was getting into the feeling department, a place just as foreign and unknown to him as the lingerie section in a clothing store. "He never came back. He was just this... This stupid thing I did when I was a kid. None of it was real, and it's... It's all over now."

"You're lying."

"What?"

"You're lying," Sherlock repeated. He could see it. Amy still believed. And she was still waiting. But she wasn't waiting for him to come and pick her up in his time machine. She was waiting for him so she could yell and throw punches at him. "Besides, what with the recent events in the past few years indicating alien existence, I'd say you believe it more than you did before." Sherlock had been in London that Christmas when everyone went on top of roofs, ready to jump, when a large spaceship towered over all of the city. He had been in London for all the attacks, somehow surviving them as his brain tried to wrap around the idea that Amelia was never lying. Of course, he hadn't ever thought she was, but it was all weird now that he got to see something otherworldly for himself.

"Well, even if he _is_ real, I don't think he's coming back for me, Sherly," she sighed, Sherlock quietly pointing at another turn, "I mean, it's been eleven years. If I had a phone box that went throughout all of time and space, I don't think I'd come back to Leadworth either. It'd be the last place I'd go."

"And what would be the first?"

Amy paused for a moment, contemplating her answer. "Anywhere else but there, I guess." Her hatred for the town was apparent, and they both knew why. It was a place of torment for her, little Amelia practically the town crazy. And Sherlock was sure that there were comments passed about her new occupation. It was a small town and people were probably talking. After all, they did little else. Amy's voice broke him out of his reverie Sherlock was just finding himself in. "This is your place, yeah?"

Sherlock peered out the window, realizing they had come to a stop. Right outside of his flat. How had they gotten there so fast? It was a one bedroom place; small and lacking a lot of natural light seeing as it only had two or three windows total in the whole place. The outside of the building was a dull gray, looking quite boring in Amy's opinion. Sherlock had said that her car should show her loud personality. So where was his?

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock said, unbuckling his seatbelt. He knew what she must be thinking, that she must be wondering how someone who had country mansions for summer homes would live here when he could afford so much more. But the consulting detective liked his home well enough. It was purely functional, big enough just for him to work in. Actually, no one else had been inside it other than himself and the grumpy old landlord that didn't really like Sherlock all too well. Anyways, it had everything he needed, some food (preferably non-perishable, seeing as the milk would sour before he even got around to drinking or using it), a bed (queen size, not very comfy. It came with the place), a kitchen (very small. Sherlock used it as more of a lab than anything else), a small living room (with walls thick enough that the neighbors didn't have to hear him play his violin when his mind needed its quiet time), and a bathroom (not much to say. It's a bathroom).

He got out of the car, stopping in front of Amy's window as she rolled it down, looking up at him with those bright, brown eyes filled with as much wonder as when she was a little girl. "Amy" may have given up on her childhood fantasy, but little _Amelia_ was still there somewhere, underneath all that psychotherapy. "Not going to invite me in?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Wha-? Well, I mean, you ca-" Sherlock stammered for the correct response. He didn't want to lead Amelia on, especially not when he wasn't thinking as clearly as he should. He had to constantly remind himself that he was married to his job, that romance and lustful follies only got in the way. With legs like that, it was hard to keep focused, though. Which brought him to his next worry .This was _Amelia_. She was still so very young, despite her… Well, her womanly aspects that she had acquired over the years that proved the redhead wasn't a mere child anymore, but still. She was the little girl he used to babysit, the only friend he had ever had. Sherlock wondered if they were friends again, if this counted since they were meeting one another again. Something told him no. The Amelia he knew would never have become a kissogram. This Amelia, _Amy_, was so very different from the girl he had gotten to know, and Sherlock wondered how her life had changed from A to B so drastically. And that was what intrigued him most, what had always intrigued him. Amelia Pond had never made any sense, so impulsive and her imagination beyond the boundaries of the planet. "You can. If you want," he finally managed, "It's not very tidy, though. I don't really have a housekeeper. But I do have some te-"

"Hey, Sherly?"

"Yes?" Why did he have to sound so casual to that name, like it was a normal, okay thing that she should do on a regular basis, not that she didn't already.

"I was just kidding," Amy grinned, even though she was sort of debating taking him up on his offer. She didn't care if it was a mess, seeing as her room always seemed to be littered with papers or dirty clothes that just hadn't reached the laundry bin. The idea of going inside Sherlock's flat seemed exciting and forbidden, making it all the more fun. Amy had been to the large home he'd lived in during that summer, though Sherlock usually made a point to never be there, as Mycroft was usually about, watching his brother with an amused expression as the pair played a game of some sort. Amy was sure he made fun of Sherlock when she left, teasing him for hanging out with an 8 year old. The older sibling had always been kind to her, but she couldn't say the same for the two brothers, their hostility rolling off them in waves as she stood against a wall, drawing in a breath and waiting for the first person to explode. Neither did, though. Not ever.

"Oh." Was that disappointment he felt? Why on Earth was Sherlock feeling disappointment?

"It's late," she nodded, continuing on with the list of reasons why she shouldn't go in, talking a bit to herself. Amy was never one to be responsible, but this was _Sherlock_, a man she hadn't seen in ten years. This was her best friend and though he was a _great_ snogger, she wasn't about to go and attack his lips with hers again. She'd give it a few more days. "Rory needs his car in the morning and Aunt Sharon will think I'm up to something suspicious if I get home too late."

"Can't you just tell her you're with me?"

"Oh, yeah!" Amy cried, "Wouldn't that be lovely? 'Hey, Sharon. Won't be home for a while. I'm with one of my clients right now. He's a grown man, tipsy, and invited me to come over to his place. Don't worry, it' just Sherlock. Remember? My babysitter that put dead animals in our freezer?'"

Sherlock smiled again, him also noticing how foreign it felt. Twice in one night? He blamed it on his alcohol levels, ignoring that voice that reminded him that it really wasn't _that_ significant of an amount. "So now what, Amelia Pond?" he asked, shoving his pale hands into his coat pockets.

"Now, I drive off," Amy replied, "And you'll watch me go, trying to decide if our kiss was wrong or not. You won't be able to decide, though, so you'll just store it in that big brain for later. That's what you always used to do when you faced a problem you couldn't solve."

"I can solve any and every problem I am faced with, Miss Pond. It's just you that I can't quite figure out yet," he chuckled, before looking down at his sleek, black shoes.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Amy beamed. Predictable was no fun at all, especially where Sherlock and Amy were concerned. Maybe that was why they had become such good friends when they were younger, how it seemed like, now as she was leaving, they were starting a whole new friendship. They were so similar yet so different from how they were as kids, making it all seem fresh and new, yet familiar and comforting at the same time. "Predictable" was never a compliment in either of their books.

"How will I find you again?" Sherlock asked, "There has to be some way of reaching you _other_ than through your place of business. Don't you have a phone or live in town or something? Or do you still live with your aunt?"

"You're the man who sees everything, Sherlock Holmes. You'll find me if you try hard enough."

"But what's the point, then?" Sherlock asked. He _was_ the man who saw everything, who made sense out of every problem he came up to. Except her. Except for Amy. "If I'm just going to find you anyways, why don't you just tell me now?"

"Because," Amy answered, simply, giving him a shrug and a playful smile, "Where's the fun in that?"

And so, the night ended, Amy speeding away in Rory's little car, Sherlock standing by his front door, watching her leave as his brain began to analyze every little piece of that night. After ten minutes, he went inside to get warm, still thinking. It wasn't until he got into bed and pulled the covers over him that Sherlock decided that he was much to tired and not sober enough to think coherently anymore and filed it in his big brain for later. Maybe Amy wasn't _that_ bad at analyzing. He just wished he could do the same to her.

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	5. Because I Can't Calculate

**Hello, all! I really didn't think it'd take this long to write the chapter. :P Sorry about that! But here it is anyways! The next meeting between Sherlock and Amy! Read on to find out what happens!**

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Amy hadn't honestly expected him to coming looking for her. She knew that Sherlock must be pretty busy with his consulting detective business, not to mention he was slightly intoxicated that night and might not even remember some of it. And then there was that lingering thought that he probably didn't care enough about her to stay in touch. Amy knew they had once been friends when they were kids, and that the night before had felt so easy, like they had never really left one another, but that didn't necessarily mean he thought they were back to being crazy Amelia Pond and her strange babysitter. She knew how hard it had been for him to admit that they were friends in the first place. So, when he showed up on the door the next day, around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, you could imagine the Scottish woman's shock.

"What are yo-" she began to ask. She was still barely awake herself, having the next couple of days off until her job called her in with more parties to visit. Amy had gotten home around 3 in the morning, made tea, been questioned by her disapproving aunt who had been awakened from the noise she had been making in the kitchen, and headed to bed around 5. Her eyes squinted, even though it was mostly overcast outside.

"Sorry, I would have been here sooner, but I woke up in poor condition," the man in the black coat interrupted, hands held behind his back as he waited patiently for Amy to open the door. Actually, he _was_ quite busy, but his next case that Lestrade had presented him with was a bit dull, to be honest, and the Sherlock already had it narrowed down to a few suspects after his first glance. The next case on his hand was the death of a maid that worked for a very wealthy family. The police were absolutely clueless, which wasn't much different from how they were with any of their other cases. "Are you going to invite me inside?"

Amy shrugged, moving and opening the door more, hand held out to motion for him to come in. "How did you find me so fast?" Again, she didn't think he was taking her challenge serious, but seeing as this _was_ Sherlock and she _was _Amy, everything between them was some sort of competition or game. She was still in her nightie, for Christ's sake, and here he was looking put-together and absolutely amazing. Sherlock was winning.

"Easy," he replied, breezily, sweeping into the house, feeling the familiarity greet him as he walked in. Some things were different, like the flooring, which was no longer gray carpeting, but hardwood flooring. Then there were different photos, of course, for time had passed without him and the life of Amelia Pond hadn't been put on hold. He looked at school pictures of the Amelia he had to miss, years filled with vital information that could possibly unlock the mystery of this woman before him. "Your job."

"My job?" Amy repeated.

"Yes, I figured out why you like your job so much. It's because it's something exciting, getting to dress up in costumes and play different characters. It's what you used to do all the time as a child, though the outfits are a bit skimpier than I remember…" Amy rolled her eyes, trying to hide a slight blush that Sherlock didn't miss. He cleared his throat and went on, following her into the kitchen as she went to make them tea, "Getting to go different places, get outside Leadworth and meet different people, _that's_ what you always dreamed of doing, isn't it? So, you dress up, you play your little characters to drunk men in London bars, and why? Because you're still trying to escape Leadworth. You're still here. "

Amy didn't say anything in response, turning on the stove and watching the flame underneath the burner come to life. She put the kettle on and leaned against the counter, staring at him blankly. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something, to react. "What? You're right," she smirked, "It gets boring here. You know that."

"But kissograms make a decent living- I checked," Sherlock said, standing across from her, "Why not just move out to London?"

"Aunt Sharon says the crime rate i-"

"Amelia Pond, you don't take orders from anyone, and you certainly never listened to your aunt," Sherlock broke in, cutting her off from the lie she already had prepared. It seemed like Amy had been asked this before, many times before, the answer coming out so easily. He would have been convinced had he not known her.

Amy didn't feel like telling Sherlock the real reason, maybe because she didn't feel like admitting it even to herself. It was sort of for the same immature reason that children got upset when they had to go travelling for Christmas, wondering how Santa was going to find them and give them their presents if they left. The redhead, on the surface, had dismissed any sort of notion that the Doctor existed, but Sherlock was right. Underneath it all, Amy was still waiting. And how was the Doctor supposed to find her if she left? If she moved homes or towns? What if the Raggedy Doctor came back in his blue box, ready to take Amy on all the adventures she'd pretended to have as a kid, but when he showed up, she was gone, off to London or living across town? Yes, Amy was stupid enough to still be waiting for him and if it was hard for her to say it to herself, quietly in her mind, how on Earth was she going to tell Sherlock? "I don't know why I'm still here," she lied, hoping her old friend wouldn't see through it, "What kind of tea do you want?"

"Earl gray," he replied, automatically, like he knew she was going to change the subject to something as simple as tea. And that's because he did. Amy wasn't ready to give that part of herself up yet, so Sherlock was just going to have to be patient.

* * *

><p>They'd been talking for an hour and a half or so. About anything and everything, catching up on the years they had missed in their friends' lives. Sherlock used every piece of newly gained information to figure Amy out, while she grew with excitement and jealousy at the fast-paced, dangerous tales he told her. In only twenty-four short years, this man had created a lot of enemies. The pair was totally undisturbed, Sharon at work until 6. They talked on and on until, around 4, Amy got a call from Rory.<p>

"Hold on," she said, holding up a finger and clicking a button on her phone, "Hey, Rory. What's up?"

"Oh, hey," her friend replied, his voice slightly muffled. There was a girl in the background, Amy instantly recognizing it as Mels. Then she remembered. "We still on for today?"

Another ring went off and the redhead looked over to see Sherlock pressing a few buttons on his phone, receiving a text message. He sighed, looking somewhat disappointed before getting off the couch. "Sorry," Sherlock apologized, "I have to go."

"Amy?" Rory asked worriedly, "Amy, are you there? Are you with someone?"

"Shut up for a second," she hissed into the phone, and then looked back up at the figure headed towards the door. "Where do you think you're going?"

Sherlock turned around quickly, the end of his coat rising up in the air a bit. His face was completely neutral, but there might be some feelings. Well, the first one he recognized was irritation. "That was Lestrade. I've been working on a case and he wants me to come back to examine the rest of the crime scene." It was only a homicide, nothing like the serial killings Sherlock was _really _interested in, but apparently, Lestrade was trying to actually recruit him. Having an independent worker like this solving all their cases would definitely look bad if anyone ever found out. That was partly the reason why Lestrade was trying to cut back on using him. That and people thought he was an arse.

"Gotta go, Rory. I'll make this up to you later." With that, she shoved the phone back in her pocket. "Let me get dressed."

"Wait, why?" Sherlock asked, confused.

Amy didn't answer at first, continuing her way up the steps. As she reached the first landing, she turned to Sherlock with a smile on her face and shrugged. "I'm going with you. Duh."

* * *

><p>"Do you own a car?" Amy asked skeptically, getting out of the cab and into the middle of a crime scene. There was crime tape, police officers, and flashes of cameras. It was a nice neighborhood, and suddenly, the redhead felt inappropriately dressed. She was wearing her usual short denim shirt, a dark leather jacket, and matching boots. Of course, Sherlock <em>had <em>to make a comment about the time of year it was and the length of her skirt, but she didn't care. She was young and had legs to show off, as both could tell. Amy smiled softly as he did that _thing_, the thing where he pretends he's not looking at you but you just _know_ he's using his amazing peripherals to eye you up and down. She went on pretending not to notice.

"No. Why would I need a car?" Sherlock replied, hands behind his back as they made their way up the stone steps, "A cab takes me everywhere I need to go. Besides, _you_ don't have a car either."

"Good point," she relented. The house was very large, the family obviously wealthy. Inside, there was Lestrade talking to a woman and some other officers that Amy recognized from the night before. They were all up the double staircase, beautiful things that lay just beyond the door in the white parlor with all white furniture. This place was immaculate. They stepped up the stairs, making their way to Lestrade. One of the officers turned around, showing a face of slight contempt that she didn't bother hiding. Sherlock could still see the slight bit of hangover in her body language.

"So, Jeff brought you back?" Officer Donovan asked, eyeing the man up and down, then over to Amy, sizing up her attire and instantly recognizing her face, "And you brought the stripper? What is she? Your new pet?"

"Oi," Amy cried, "_Right here_. And I'm not a stripper! I'm a kissogram."

"Is there any difference?"

"Oh, I'll show you the diff-" she began, but Sherlock grabbed her arm and started carting her down the hall.

"Thanks for the help, Donovan," he called back, "But we're off to actually be useful now." They both could feel the hot glare of the woman officer as they made their way to the end of the hallway, where Lestrade was talking near an open doorway, probably where the body was at. But Amy was wrong. This had happened earlier that morning. Sherlock already had Molly Hooper working back in the lab on the dead body, sending it off and examining the crime scene a bit before heading off to Leadworth, telling Lestrade he had some important business to attend to. Not a complete lie, but the head of the police decided that his little "break" was over and had called him back to finish the examinations.

"Sherlock! You're back. Great. And you brought an assist-" Lestrade said, turning from the man he was talking to. His eyes widened and he skipped a beat upon recognizing Amy, but tried his best to casually cover it up. He failed. "Oh, hello. Nice to see you again."

"Likewise," Amy smiled, sheepishly, avoiding eye contact and bending her knees in an awkward mini curtsy. A flash of a smirk appeared on Sherlock's face.

"Sherlock, can I talk to you alone?"

"Amelia's a big girl," he replied, nodding his head towards the ginger, "She can handle whatever you have to say to me."

Lestrade looked at the pair, slightly exasperated, and Amy took the hint. She quickly edged away from the conversation and towards the other side of the stairs. She tried to make herself resist the urge to go back over to Donovan and give that woman a piece of her mind, but Amy didn't exactly feel like going to jail for assaulting an officer. Maybe when she was off-duty.

"Sherlock, please tell me you didn't sleep wi-" Lestrade began. Though he never took the consulting detective as the type to sleep with kissograms, he wasn't going to doubt it. Mr. Holmes was mysterious and strange and always surprised them. Still, no matter how much of a help he'd been lately to the police force, Lestrade wasn't afraid to arrest him for prostitution.

"Of course not. Are you stupid?" Sherlock asked, quickly following with, "Never mind. Don't answer that. We both know the answer anyways. We're just old friends, Amelia and I."

* * *

><p>Amy ended up wandering through the halls of the large home, away from the police and all the tape and sharp metal tang that went up her nose from all the blood in the room where Sherlock and Lestrade were. The dead body was gone, but they had hardly cleaned up the place. It seemed they were waiting on Sherlock to finish the job. Was he really that important? It wouldn't surprise her if he wasn't, though this was so early on in his career. He was already becoming what he'd always dreamed of. And how far was she to achieving hers? So, so far. Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be in London, solving crimes and saving the world while Amelia Pond traveled the stars and saved the universe. Only one of those was being lived. Instead of feeling jealous, though, the redhead only felt pride for her old friend. Good for him for not giving up, like she had.<p>

A sound and shuffling broke Amy from her reverie. Her pace slowed, her body hunched over as she tried to peer into a room with the door open at the end of the hall, the direction from which the noise had originated. "Hello?" she called, inching closer, "Who's there?"

There was no answer and Amy continued down the hallway, quickly turning to look inside the room, standing with a defensive stance in the doorway. The rustling was paper blowing in the wind, sitting on a desk pushed up to the wall, just a few feet away from the end of the bed. She leaned over the papers to see what was said. Some were bills, all addressed to Jenna Kingsley, the maid. This must have been where her room was. It was pretty nice for the most part. There were cream-colored walls, wood flooring, and a full-sized bed with a gray blanket and mismatched pillows thrown haphazardly on the bed. This was the only room she didn't have to clean so immaculately. But the wall color, flooring, nor the bills were what Amy gazed down at. It was a little, white stick made of plastic, a strip at the end of it and an oval screen displaying two smiley faces. It was a pregnancy test. And it was positive.

Amy's head spun with the thought that not only a young girl was dead, but also the unborn child in her belly. She must not have been far along, maybe just recently finding out. Sherlock had told Amy on the car ride over that it was just some maid that died, a simple murder that not even the police were figuring out. He'd given her the details, the main suspect being the woman's ex-boyfriend. They'd broken up two months before the murder and it wasn't on good terms. There was no force of entry and a few things had been stolen from the home. The employers were both out, apparently. Michael Oswell was at work and Victoria Oswell was out shopping. What the police were thinking was that the ex-boyfriend had come to convince Jenna to take him back. Recognizing him, she would have opened the door and probably let him in, explaining why no force seemed evident at the door. After rejecting him, maybe he went into an intoxicated rage, ending in the death of Jenna. Then, the man stole some expensive items and left. The man was already in custody and being questioned, but Sherlock didn't think the case was _that_ obvious. He told Lestrade so and here he was, observing. But now as Amy looked down at the white stick, she knew there must be more to the story as well. Maybe Jenna had a new guy in her life, the father of her unborn child, and her ex had found out. Or maybe it was something different. Either way, Amy definitely liked the excitement of being a sleuth.

Now the question was where to go next.

* * *

><p>After speaking to Lestrade who advised him to "be careful with this one," (whatever that meant) Sherlock looked quickly around for the redhead, stopping and asking several people. But no one had seen her. He sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. He closed his eyes and began to think. If he were Amy, where would he go? The hour-long conversation had helped, of course, but it would still be somewhat difficult to guess. This home was huge, the Oswell family obviously very wealthy. Mr. Oswell had been climbing up the ladder at his job for years and finally made it way high up into the executive branch of a pharmaceutical company. Before he could come up with an assumption, though, Amy came storming down the hall, an excited look on her face.<p>

"What's the matter with you?" he asked curiously as she skipped up next to him.

"I don't know," she shrugged, "I'm having fun. Is that a bad thing?"

"Sort of," Sherlock smirked, "It's a crime scene."

Amy giggled softly, then walked over to Lestrade. Sherlock watched her talk to the man. She seemed to be asking for something from the way her stance had changed. He could see her lip jutted out. She was using a combination of begging and flirtation to get her way. And from the way Lestrade was looking at her, shocked at first, then growing a cheeky smile, it was working. Amy hugged the grown man enthusiastically, making him blush, making Donovan roll her eyes, and sending a spike of jealousy through Sherlock. He didn't really like touching. He'd never hugged Amy, but watching them now, he wanted to. Just to prove it was nothing that special.

"Alright, Sherlock," Amy said, grabbing him by the hand and leading him downstairs, "Let's get to work!"

"What are we _doing_?"

"We're interviewing!"

* * *

><p>Sherlock never did interviews unless they were with witnesses. That was just so he could get a good idea. But Amy wanted to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Oswell for some reason. Why? They hadn't seen anything. Whatever they had to say was completely useless. That was why he usually left it to one of the police to interview the unnecessary. If they had something to report, like the information on Jenna's ex-boyfriend, then yes. He'd use that. But having to do it himself meant he had to listen to people talk on and on about the dullest of things and then he'd have to deal with the people who became overwhelmed with emotion. And Sherlock didn't deal with emotions well.<p>

They started with the wife first. She really did have nothing of importance to say, though Sherlock studied her body language and noticed how stiff and formal she was. For some reason, Victoria Oswell seemed all too rehearsed. Sherlock put in a folder in the back of his mind, saving it for later. It could just be that she was always like that. He was getting a sort of trophy wife feel from her. Her whole life could be rehearsed. He didn't know if it mattered much, but maybe someone was threatening the family and Jenna's death was really just a part of a bigger picture. He didn't think she'd killed the maid. There'd been no motive and she had an alibi, however it was quite shaky.

Next was the husband, who was a little less composed than his wife. Sherlock wondered why, but Amy seemed to be taking charge of the interview. "Hello, Mr. Oswell," she smiled warmly from the couch opposite him, "We just have a few questions for you. It shouldn't be too hard."

"Oh, o-okay," the man said shakily. He was dressed in a suit, though the jacket was off and his tie was removed. His shirt was rumpled. He hadn't slept a single wink. And while he looked like a complete mess, his wife was perfectly kept. Another observation was added to the folder. "You can call me Michael, though."

"Okay, Michael," Amy nodded, folding her hands across her lap. She seemed completely confident, though that didn't surprise Sherlock. She was always confident. "How long has Jenna been working here?"

"Four months," Michael answered, rubbing his tired eyes, "She was recommended to us from the agency after our last maid, Rosita, retired."

"And how well did you know her?"

"Well… I-I knew her pretty well." Something about his demeanor had changed, but Sherlock couldn't place it. Something was off with this man. What was it? "I started working from home three months ago, so we… We talked and such. She was a really nice and beautiful girl. She had a lot of dreams and aspirations. I offered to get her a secretary job at my company, but she said she didn't want any strings pulled for her. Jenna was really driven and independent. Very much so."

Amy nodded and Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was all so dull, so very, very dull. None of this was useful. The questions went on like this, Michael eventually breaking down just as Sherlock had predicted. Amy crossed over to the other couch, murmuring comforting words in his ear and rubbing his back, which calmed the man down a bit. At one point, she seemed to be itching her leg, but there was a glint in her eye saying she was doing something else. Sherlock couldn't see without making it obvious, the coffee table in the way. After Michael quieted down and wiped his tears, she excused herself to the restroom and the interviews ended. Sherlock strode over to the bathroom door, hearing water from the sink running.

"I told you those interviews were going to be useless," he called in a condescending tone.

"Actually, Sherlock, if you must know," Amy said back, the water turning off and the door opening a moment later, "Those interviews just helped me solve the case."

* * *

><p>"How'd you know it was Victoria?" Sherlock asked, watching the woman get escorted into a police car, yelling profanities, mostly directed at Amy. The redhead just smiled and playfully waved back. She'd cornered Victoria into confessing, enraging her. Irritating people was a talent of Amy's and they all knew it, but the woman had exploded, finally saying she'd been the one to kill Jenna. There were a few moments of shock, even for Amy, who couldn't believe she'd actually solved the case and succeeded.<p>

"I'm surprised you didn't see it, you big numpty," Amy smirked, her arms crossed and standing beside Sherlock, leaning against the black gridiron fence in the front of the house, "You really should watch more soap operas." Sherlock was more of the logical type, one that analyzed every bit of evidence and put himself in the mind of the killers. But Amy went the emotional route, putting herself in the case and getting to actually know everyone in it. Which was exactly what they needed for this case. Lestrade had already said that maybe they should get the Scottish girl for the crimes involving scandals and family problems, leaving the sick and twisted serial killing cases to Sherlock. The consulting detective didn't have a single objection, though Amy just laughed it off, saying the closest she'd get to being a police officer was when she got dressed up in the outfit. She handed over a folded piece of paper to Sherlock, who quickly read it.

_Dear Victoria, _

_I'd watch your husband if I were you. Someone's playing "House" with him when his wifey is out. _

_X_

"That was in her purse," Amy said, "I took it from her purse when Michael was crying." He smiled. So she _had_ been doing something other than scratching her leg. "I think Jenna's boyfriend found out and ended up telling Victoria. She went snooping through Jenna's room, found the pregnancy test, and killed her."

"But _why_?" he inquired, still confused by it all, "Why didn't she go after her husband? Or leave him?"

"You saw her, Sherlock. Think hard and I'm _sure_ you can figure that out for yourself." And he did, a minute of silence later. While the husband was a complete wreck, Victoria looked completely put together. She was rehearsed. Yes, the facts were coming back to him. She was a trophy wife, and she cared deeply about appearances. So she removed Jenna like a blemish, an imposing threat on the perfect picture the Oswells had upheld in the community. That was exactly why there was no forced entry. Because Victoria had the key. Such an obvious answer, but overlooked by everyone.

"Well, well," Sherlock smiled, "Well done, Amelia Pond."

She peeked from the corner of her eye to see his smile, one growing on her own lips. "I learned from the best." It was Sherlock, all those years ago, that had taught her how to view people. Whenever they went out to the park or out to town, he would show her. Just one look and he could figure out the person's favorite ice cream flavor. With time, he had only gotten better. But Amy could tell he relied on logic far too much and over thought things. And that was getting in his way. Sherlock still had time, though, to learn and improve. He was only just starting out.

A bit later, after everyone started to leave, Lestrade walked up beside Sherlock, both watching the cab that was being sent off to Leadworth leave the driveway, red hair visible through the back window. "I like her," Lestrade said, "She seems good for you."

Sherlock wasn't sure how that could be construed or how to respond. So, he just replied with "Thank you." For once, the man's company wasn't entirely irritating him. That was, until he opened his mouth again.

"But you really didn-"

"_No_!"

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	6. Can't Deny You Want the Happy Ending

**Hi, everyone! Back with another chapter, though this one has a bit less mystery. Actually, a lot less. But I think I might throw another one of those in there since you all seem to like detective!Amy. Anyways, warning you... I like to stay as close to canon as possible. As you will see in this chapter... **

**Song title is from "She's Got You High" by Mumm-ra. And... Yeah! Other than the fact that I don't own this and that I'm still doing the "review=sneak peek"... I have nothing else to say! So, read on and enjoy!**

"I wasn't talking about him," Mels said, laying on Amy's bed with one leg crossed over the other. Amy had made plans with Sherlock that night, but then she'd gotten a call from her best gal pal, saying she was in jail. For stealing a bus. The redhead never understood why her friend did this. Was it a cry for attention? To who? Her parents? Amy had never even really meant Mels' parents, but Mels had told her that her parents had left her for a while, leaving her under the care of an Aunt Kovarian, but that they had reunited once more and lived in Leadworth ever since. Amy never questioned the explanation, not really caring about meeting her parents. She tried to keep _her _friends away from Aunt Sharon as much as possible.

And just as Amy went on lecturing her friend _again_ for the committed crime and the waste of gas it was on Rory's part to take them over to bail her out, Mels changed the subject. Amy had originally thought she was talking about the Doctor, someone she was trying hard to move forward from and someone that Mels frequently brought up. It had once been a game for all three of them, but Mels was the only one that seemed to bring the redhead's imaginary friend up anymore. Apparently, though, she was talking about someone else. Amy's mind quickly went to Sherlock. How did Mels know? Lately, Amy's feelings toward the consulting detective had become more and more confusing. Sometimes, she couldn't help but stare at him, then catch herself and wonder what the hell she was doing. Amy had been trying to keep that under wraps, though, even from herself. But then her eyes flickered to Rory, who was just getting up to leave. "What?" she asked, "You mean Rory? How have I _got_ Rory?"

Rory froze at the door frame, unsure of what to say or do. He had feelings for Amy, of course he did. He always had. But he'd never voiced it, either; too afraid to hear anyone mock him for thinking he could get a girl like Amy Pond. He turned around, pretending to be confused. "Yeah," he said, trying to laugh it off while cursing Mels all the while, "How has she _got me_?"

"He's not mine."

"Yeah," Rory agreed, half-heartedly, knowing this was a complete lie. Amy had always had a hold on him, ever since they first met. "I'm not _hers_."

Mels looked at the pair like they were stupid. "Oh, come on. It has to be you two." Her friends continued to stare at her, Amy's blank and confused, Rory's wide and worried. "Oh, cut to the song, already! It's getting boring!"

"Nice thought, okay?" Amy replied, patting Rory on the back, showing that they were _just friends._ "But completely impossible."

"Yeah… Impossible." Was it really that hard for her to love Rory? He didn't know if he could stand another second, turning to leave, but Amy already had a hold of him.

"I'd love to," Amy went on, sort of hearing Rory hurt. Maybe he had taken offense to that. She tried to make it up with a list of compliments, hoping to boost her friend's self-esteem, none of which were _too _false. Had Amy ever thought about Rory in that way? Sure, when they were growing up and she'd thought he'd been trying to make a move on her. But that never happened and it wasn't long before her theory about him was formulated. "He's gorgeous! He's my favorite guy, but you know. He's… Gay."

"A friend," Rory tried to finished, feeling his heart take a walk of shame to the "friend's zone." But then Amy's words started to process in his brain. He turned to look at the redhead, slightly embarrassed and offended. "I'm not gay."

She gave him a sympathetic smile, sad in knowing she'd sort of forced Rory out of the closet. Amy had heard this was a special thing for gay people and that you should let them come out when they are good and ready. But this was Amy. And did those rules sound like rules Amy Pond would follow? Absolutely not. "Yes, you are," Amy said, supportively, looking deep into his hazel-green eyes. Amy was his best friend and she was going to be there for him.

"No," he insisted, "No, I'm not."

"Of course you are! Don't be stupid!" She didn't see what the big deal was, since it was already out. Amy was just going to have to make him see how obvious it was for everyone else. "In the whole time I've known you, when have you shown the slightest interest in a _girl_?"

From the sidelines, Mels sang quietly, "Penny in the air!"

Amy continued on. "I've known you for what, ten years? I've seen you practically every day." Except of late. "Name one girl you've paid the _slightest_ attention to." And that's when she saw it. Her lessons from Sherlock made the redhead aware of the quickness in Rory's breathing, the way his eyes darted from hers. He ran out, leaving Amy in the middle of an epiphany. "Oh my God! Rory!"

"And the penny drops," Mels finished, her words dying as Amy rushed down the stairs after her friend. She'd offended him and she knew it, treated his feelings like they were nothing just like she had when they were kids and she'd leave him hiding for hours. Amy wondered how he could love such a person, one who treated him like that. But the main thing troubling her mind was anger. Anger that Sherlock had been right.

* * *

><p>"Amelia?" a voice called, breaking the girl's train of thought, "Did you hear me?"<p>

She blinked, trying hard not to blush when she realized that it was Sherlock who had caught her staring off into space, thinking about what had only happened just three nights before, when Rory had confessed his love for her. She was instantly brought back to the present, looking through books and books of Sherlock's in his apartment. There were no mysteries to solve as of late, but Sherlock tended to get stir crazy if he stayed cooped up in his flat with no one else there to keep company. He was sitting next to her on a long couch, Amy's knees raised to balance the book she'd been reading. He was more formal in posture, one hand rested on the arm of the couch next to the end table with his tea, the other hand flipping through a larger, more boring book sitting in his lap. "No, sorry," Amy replied, clearing her throat, "What were you saying?"

"I was asking if you were going to do anything for your birthday," Sherlock repeated, sounding just a tad annoyed. He hated when people weren't paying attention to him and he'd thought he'd been making really interesting conversation about the rate at which a body decays.

"Oh, um," Amy answered awkwardly, blinking as she was brought back down to the real world, "Yeah, but I can cancel if you want to do something."

"Well, if your aunt has something planned, then I understand," Sherlock shrugged, feeling just a bit too cocky with the thought of Amy going out her way to make time for him on her birthday.

"No, it's not my aunt…" She trailed off, knowing full well that Sherlock was going to ask and she was going to have to tell. But the words were already out, not being able to catch herself in time to just go along with the Aunt Sharon idea, a clever lie if there ever was one. "Rory asked me to go to dinner with him. And I told him I would… But if you want to do something, I can just cancel. He won't mind." The sad thing was that he probably wouldn't. Once Amy had finally caught up to him, his body shivering from nervousness as they stood in her garden, where they had played so many games of "Raggedy Doctor" together, he was just glad that she had agreed to eat dinner with him. He knew this was new to her, thinking of Rory as an option. But he hoped it'd be an option she took seriously now.

"Rory?" Sherlock repeated, incredulously, "You're going to dinner with _Rory_ for your birthday?" Well, Sherlock didn't mean to be presumptuous, though he usually was, but that didn't sound as innocent as Amy was making it out to be. "Why?"

"Because," Amy shrugged, trying not to make it a big deal. Part of her relished in the fact that Sherlock was, "He asked me to have dinner with him and I said yes."

"Is this just for fun or a romantic outing?" Sherlock hardly ever discussed things like this and wasn't sure what words could describe what he was talking about. _Date _wasn't quite in his vocabulary yet. "I thought you said Rory was gay."

This was the main reason she hadn't been planning on telling him. There were other reasons, of course, like the small trickle of guilt Amy felt when she'd said yes. She knew that it was silly to believe, that maybe it was just her own feelings that made her think this way, but Amy felt like she was almost… _Cheating _on Sherlock. Maybe it was just the fact that had the roles been reversed, she would have felt cheated _on_. But then the logical part of Amy told her to quit being silly, that Sherlock didn't own her nor she own him. The logical part was the one that had said yes. The rest of Amy was the part that had told Sherlock she'd break those very plans for him. "Yeah, well," Amy mumbled, "I was wrong."

"I'm sorry. What was that, Amelia?" Yeah, so what if Sherlock felt a giant surge of triumph? He loved to be right! He just wished he wasn't right about this. He'd been having some questionable feelings for the redhead as of late, though Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to call it. He just liked being around her, her presence as calming as the cigarettes she was currently trying to make him give up. What he didn't like? The fact that she'd made plans with _Rory_ for her birthday.

"I said," Amy sighed, voice a tad bit louder, "I said I was _wrong_."

Sherlock grinned for a second and Amy found it hard to look irritated when she saw it. It was a rare facial expression for him. He was usually so poised and neutral, though Lestrade was quick to point out once that he'd been doing it more as Amy hung out with him. She quickly dismissed it with a laugh and comment on how funny she was, though her pride soared at the observation, deciding not to look to into it to see if it was true or not. As usual, the grin was all too fleeting, falling as Sherlock remembered why he was smiling in the first place. "So this _is_ a romantic excursion then? With Rory?"

"_Romantic excursion_?" Amy raised her eyebrows, giggling softly. "Why don't you just say 'date' like the rest of us, Sherly?"

"A date? What's a date?"

"Oh, never mind you big idiot," she replied with a roll of her eyes, "Like I said, I'll cancel if you want to do something."

Sherlock hesitated, wondering what choice to make. He knew he shouldn't care about who Amy went to dinner with, whether it was romantic or not. He knew he shouldn't feel that painful knot in the bottom of his stomach, the same one he felt when she ran off to do her job as a kissogram, the same one he felt that day at the crime scene when she'd been hugging Lestrade. But he did, and Sherlock wasn't sure how to fix it. The detective had been doing tons of research on what he might be feeling, but the closest thing he'd gotten to was _love. _And Sherlock was _definitely _not in love with Amy. He wasn't going to get that close again. Last time he'd let his guard fully down was during a warm summer in Leadworth and his heart had ended up breaking for the first, and hopefully last, time as he had to say goodbye to his friend. No. Sherlock couldn't be in love. That was a weakness, something he had long since decided wasn't something he would ever have, a decision he didn't care about making at the time.

Even if this wasn't love, Sherlock had to make sure it didn't happen anyways. He couldn't rely on Amy like he had when they were kids again. His gaze even switched to the old, worn Chemistry book on one of the shelves that Amy had passed by in choosing her book to read, not remembering that that was the same exact book Sherlock had read to her, the one that made her pass out. The one that still had the folded up drawing that she'd made of them playing "Raggedy Doctor." He couldn't get attached to Amy. He just couldn't. Relying on someone else like that? Sherlock wasn't scared of much, but _that _sure sent a cold chill down his spine. "No, no," he finally answered, noting the way Amy's face fell upon hearing it. Sherlock was going to have to analyze that later. After he was done analyzing the odd pain in his heart as he spoke the words, "You don't have to cancel your plans. I'm sure you'll have a great time with Rory."

_I don't need anyone. I don't need anyone. I am married to my work. I am _married _to my _work_._

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><em>


	7. Such Pain As This

**Yes, I know it's been a while! I'm sorry! But I seriously had no idea what I was going to write for this next chapter. Like I said, I like sticking to canon as much as possible, so I was really trying to figure out what to do with the Doctor coming back into Amy's life and how that would affect Sherlock. But**, **I finally got it done! I seriously wrote this chapter five million times with like... 8 different directions that this story could have taken. This is the one I went with. :P It's also summer break for me, so I'll be having more time to write(: **

**Okay. Reminding you that I own nothing and that if you send in a review, you shall indeed get a sneak peek to the next chapter! Enjoy!**

She hadn't been the same since he left. Sherlock had done his best to avoid her for a while after she started dating Rory, knowing that he was starting to get too close to Amelia Pond. But then it started affecting his work and Sherlock just couldn't have that. Lestrade had already started giving him less cases which was driving the detective even more mad. This was after he'd already belittled every person on the force during one of the more recent cases, but he tried to say that it wasn't his fault that they were all idiots. The truth was that he couldn't handle everyone's stupidity without Amy there sharing a smirk with her, getting her lousy coffee, watching the look in her eyes as her brain tried to work out the problem before her. Without her there, he just got snappier, and then the complaints started adding up. Lestrade knew he needed him, though, so now he only used him every once in a while.

So, with nothing to do and not wanting to sit home alone faced with his own boredom, Sherlock decided that after a month, it was time to visit her. He told himself that it had nothing to do with _missing _Amy. It was just that he was bored and that he _needed _her not because he felt anything more for her than friendship, but because he couldn't work without her. It was all selfish reasons, he told himself. It was all for his job. And nothing else. The day that he returned was the day the sun went funny, when a message played over and over on every single channel of every single TV and radio station. Sherlock didn't know how to make sense of it at first, the cabby being just as confused as he did as the robotic voice spilled from the speakers._ Prisoner Zero will vacate the human residence, or the human residence will be incinerated._ But what did it mean? And then halfway through the ride, something had happened to the sun, something else Sherlock couldn't explain. And he hated not being able to explain things.

He saw her before she even reached the house. The car had been stopped after a strange man wearing a tweed jacket and bow tie ran in front of the car, his mouth an excited grin as he ran down in the direction of where Sherlock was trying to go. The man looked completely mad, but Sherlock didn't even have a chance to wonder about him when a familiar flash of red caught his eye. It was Amy in her police uniform and it sent memories of that kiss between them rushing through Sherlock's mind. He got out, ignoring the shouts of the driver and ran alongside Rory, who was just as eagerly trying to catch up.

"What are _you _doing here?" Rory asked breathlessly, turning his head and noticing the blue scarf whipped back. He hadn't seen the man in a while, at least a month. Amy had tried calling him and texting him, too, wondering where he might be. She would frown when she saw articles in the newspaper of solved crimes, knowing that Sherlock was involved in some of them and no longer inviting her along. She had been heartbroken, despite how badly she tried keeping it away from Rory and Mels. Was he a bit happy that Sherlock vanished? Yes, of course. Rory was so easily jealous, even though he knew that Sherlock wasn't really able to _feel_. But he also wished the stupid man would at least reply to _one _text message to cheer her up. Even though he rather enjoyed the absence, Rory knew it had been killing Amy not to have one of her best friends around. And if they didn't get to the Doctor in time, he knew that the alien leaving would rip her apart even more.

"I got bored!" Sherlock replied, trying to pick up the speed, but Amy was running way too fast, trying to keep up with a man who had been running for 907 years. They ran past more cars who honked their horns and screamed curses at them, down fields where people were chatting about how the voice had finally gone away and the sun was back to normal, past children playing and familiar homes that Sherlock recognized from his summer in Leadworth. They didn't stop running, not until a strange noise began to fill their ears, coming from the garden. Sherlock had to stop in the driveway, but Rory went on after Amy. And then the noise stopped.

He caught his breath before he jogged over, just a minute or two after Amy and Rory had reached the garden. "What the hell was _that_?"

She didn't open her eyes even though she knew who it was behind her. She could feel his calculating, blue eyes on her back, recognized that voice that demanded to know what was going on. If Amy opened her eyes, she knew there would be a sudden downpour of tears. "He came back," she answered, hoping no one else heard the cracking in her voice, "The Doctor… He came back." And he left her again.

* * *

><p>It'd been two months since the Doctor left Amy behind. She felt completely alone, unwanted. How could she think that he would want her to come along with him? How could she really believe that someone as great as her Raggedy Doctor could like a silly kissogram from Leadworth? Amy felt stupid for trusting him again, for still feeling a cling to him and hoping he would come back and say it was all just a mistake again, that as soon as he realized she hadn't made it inside, he turned around and went back. Even if it meant that he'd gotten the time wrong by two months.<p>

"Amelia?" Sherlock was the only one she ever enjoyed talking to anymore and it wasn't because of that little crush she'd had on him a few months ago. He was the one that had never doubted her or teased her for believing in aliens. He was the one that had granted her escape from Leadworth and took her to crime scenes and taught her to really _see_. No one else believed Amy except for Jeff, who was moving to the States after getting a job with NASA, Mels, who just wanted every single detail of the Doctor, and Rory, who went on saying that it was a good thing he didn't take her because that life seemed far too dangerous. He also wouldn't stop complaining about that phone bill for the first month.

"Hey," she said from her window seat on her bed. That was usually where anyone could find Amy, staring out the window and into her garden, waiting for the Time Lord that had left her.

"I made you coffee," he said, his voice much closer this time, but Amy still didn't raise her eyes from the spot that the TARDIS had been parked in.

She smiled slightly. She didn't like coffee and Sherlock was absolutely rubbish at making it. But he still made it for her every day. Because he came over every day. At first, she felt guilty, but Sherlock, already knowing how she would feel about it, reassured Amy that he wasn't busy anyways, that Lestrade wasn't giving him any work because of an argument and she should just accept that he was there and appreciate it now before he changed his mind and left her all alone with her aunt Sharon. Rory was much too busy at his own job, not having to take any time off of work since the doctor that ordered it was killed by Prisoner Zero. So Amy just shut up and accepted it. She turned her head to look at him and took the mug. "Thanks, Sherly."

He rolled his eye at the nickname and sat at the foot of Amy's bed, just a foot away from her. Sherlock still used the excuse that he was too bored, that taking care of Amy gave him something to do. And even though he still couldn't quite comprehend human emotions completely, Sherlock knew that this was what people did for their friends, which was exactly what Amy was. She was his only friend. Which is why he shared the feeling with Rory that it was best she didn't catch up with the Doctor. She would have left him behind for who knows how long. Five minutes for the Doctor was twelve years for Amy. What if she got in that blue box and didn't come back? But wasn't that how it was supposed to be, what he had once told her when they were children? Sherlock Holmes, the first consulting detective, solving crimes and catching twisted serial killers while Amelia Pond is off travelling the stars? "Do you ever think he's not coming back?"

Sherlock was the first to actually ask it, though Amy knew it must be on everyone's mind. When was she going to stop waiting? Would she _ever_? Not even _she _was sure about that. She didn't know if she liked his boldness or not. With Sherlock, it was just always something she had to deal with, but Amy didn't want to think about this. "I don't know," she mumbled, looking at the dark liquid in her cup. She'd yet to take a drink and he'd already noticed.

"Amelia, you can't just sit here for the rest of your life," he sighed, wishing Amy would open up. At least to him. He couldn't read her like he could everyone else and Sherlock just wanted to know what was going on inside that head. "Why don't you get out or something? You're not just going to sit here and wait for another twelve years are you?"

He was being insensitive and he didn't know it. He never really did and Amy knew that. But it didn't matter. Because she needed him to be there for her and tell her that the Doctor was real and that he was going to come back for her just like he had when they were kids. The trouble with relying on Sherlock to be your only emotional support through a tough time like this, though, was the fact that he had barely any emotions at all. She knew he wasn't a robot, that he really did _feel _some things, but he would never show them. He wouldn't even let himself acknowledge them. Even though she knew he was just trying to speak his mind, Amy couldn't help but get irritated. "What?" she asked, "And go where? Hang about Leadworth with all the friends I don't have? Or help you with a mystery? Because I don't see any cases lined up for you, Sherlock."

"I can leave if you're just going to be in a crabby mood," Sherlock said. This wasn't the first time Amy had snapped at someone since she'd locked herself away in her bedroom, but it _was _the first time she snapped at _him._

"Oh, please," she scoffed, "Like you're not in a crabby mood ever. That's the reason why Lestrade won't even give you any jobs anymore."

"Yes, and you're about to get fired from your _kissogram_ job because you're too busy sniffling over some man who you've only known for a total of what? An hour?" he returned. Something in him told Sherlock to control his temper, to let her run her mouth, but an angrier side of him told the nicer side to shut up, that Amy had no right to talk to him like that after he'd been trying to _help _her. "Not that it makes much of a difference."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've been doing _nothing _with your life anyways. You could be so much more, but you still insist on playing these games and dressing up for men you don't even know." Sherlock didn't mean to sound like he was chastising her, but things were coming out all at once.

"Oh, no," Amy spat, setting her mug aside and turning her body to fully face him, "I've disappointed the great Sherlock Holmes, too now, yeah? Well, you know what? It's not _fair _that everyone else got to live their dream! Rory's on his way to becoming a nurse, Mels is having the time of her life stirring up trouble, and even _you _and your silly consulting job that you made up yourself!"

"That's because _our _dreams are realistic, Amelia," he said in a low voice, starting to become angry. His job wasn't silly. It was serious and he felt hurt at her words. She was the only one who had never been creeped out by his need to get inside the minds of serial killers. She was the only one who had ever understood. "_We _grew up!"

"Yeah, and I don't want to grow up!" she shouted, now shaking, "I don't want to be cold and miserable and settle for _this_. I don't want any of it! I just want to get away from you all! Why would I want to stick around with someone like you, anyways, Sherlock? You're a completely insensitive _arse_!"

He didn't raise his voice. Sherlock was never one to really yell during an argument. His comments were always quick, sharp, and cold, too far gone to even think about choosing his wording right. But this time, he really did try to keep composed and not hurt Amy. He had to remind himself that she was his friend and that many studies showed people who were either depressed or stressed said things that they didn't mean. "Not a complete arse, I'd think," he said, "Or else why would I be here?"

"Because you're bored!" She was getting mad that he wasn't fighting back, that Sherlock somehow managed to stay emotionless. Why couldn't Amy do that? Instead, here she was, completely pathetic and childish, just like he said. Why couldn't she seem to stop waiting for someone who probably wasn't ever going to come back? "You said so yo-"

"Please don't tell me you've become stupid enough to believe that," Sherlock interrupted, rolling his eyes, but trying to get back to what he was originally trying to tell her, "Amelia, I think it's best if you get outside and do something. Isolating yourself isn't going to help. Trust me, I've researched it. In any case, you're making all your friends worried."

"Please," Amy said, not willing to give up and let it all go, to listen to his words. She knew they were right. She knew every single thing Sherlock said about her was true. She was still so stubborn though, that she instead just got more irritated with him. "Like you would know anything about friends. You don't even know what you're talking about! You have to _feel _something to have friends, Sherlock, and that is something you _can't _do!" She was angry that he wasn't reacting to her, angry that he had left her for that whole month, abandoned her just like the Doctor had. Amy was angry that he had let her date Rory, didn't speak up. But why would he? He couldn't feel that sort of thing for people and she should have known. But she had convinced herself she had changed him, hadn't she?

"No, actually," Sherlock swallowed, dropping his gaze to his hands. Amy looked up into his face and inhaled sharply, seeing something she never thought she would actually see. He was hurt. It was what she had been trying to do in the first place, but only because she thought it wouldn't actually happen. Yet there he was, his face softer and more vulnerable than she had ever seen. All of a sudden, her stomach twisted and realized what she had done, that it wasn't what she had wanted after all. "I was talking from experience," he continued, getting up from the bed. When he lifted his face, it was completely neutral again. "_I _was worried about you. I thought we were friends, but apparently, I don't feel anything."

"Sherlock, wait," Amy said, standing up, "I didn-"

"I can see you don't require my company any longer, so I'll just text Mels and have her come over."

"Pleas-"

"Goodbye, Amelia." Sherlock turned for the door quickly, and swept downstairs. He'd actually gotten his own car, just because it was cheaper doing the commute lately, but he knew he wouldn't be coming back for a while and would have to call Mycroft and tell him to take one of his company cars back. He heard Amy behind him, calling his name. She stopped at the front door, her voice still audible as he got into the car, telling him she didn't mean it and to come back, to stop being an idiot. But Sherlock was hurt and mad. He felt stupid for spending all his time over there for a girl that wasn't ever going to get over her Raggedy Doctor. He was just some replacement, taking her on adventures in London, getting her away from Leadworth. But now she remembered just how great the real thing was and Sherlock was suddenly not good enough.

He didn't want to talk to her, would never talk to her again unless she apologized, of course. But he didn't know if she would, and that scared Sherlock. Still, with iron resolution, he drove off down the street and out of Leadworth, trying not to think about how he had just possibly lost his one and only friend.

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	8. This Calls For A Toast

**Hi, all! I don't really have much to say this next time around... Except that I hope you're eager to see how that argument/apology went? **

**Anyways, thanks to everyone who's been reviewing and to all those people subscribing and adding this story to their favorites! Really, it helps the writer actually _write _when she knows there's people actually enjoying it. So... Yeah! I own none of these characters and don't forget to review and get a little sneak peek in return!(: **

**ENJOY!**

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><p><em>Sherlock Holmes, <em>

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of _

_ Amelia Pond and Rory Williams_

_ On Saturday afternoon_

_ June 26__th__, 2010_

_ At 4 o' clock_

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><p>Sherlock tried not to read the words on the paper too closely. He instead focused on the material, the type of the paper and its color, the ribbon, the ornate swirls going up the left side of the card, his name scribbled in handwriting, knowing without a doubt that it was <em>her <em>that had written it. Her hands were shaky at first, hesitant, but she'd gotten fed up halfway through and finished scribbling his name with a flourish at the end, proud she'd gotten through that somehow. Maybe she didn't think he'd show up and maybe he actually wouldn't. It had been two years since Sherlock had talked to Amelia Pond, two years since he'd walked out of that door and left Leadworth, two whole years of Sherlock waiting for Amy to apologize. But she never did.

The card wasn't picked out by Amy. It must have been her aunt Sharon or one of her friends that had helped pick it out. This wasn't even her taste. What did that mean? Sherlock thought that Amy would be one of those bridezillas, controlling every last detail. Why was she so bloody difficult to read? He sighed, placing the card back into his coat pocket and looking out the window as the taxi whizzed past green pastures, darkened in the dusky sky. He'd talked on the phone to Mels, not Amy. She was in her room trying on the dress for any last minute alterations. But her friend told him that she'd be really happy that he was coming since she wasn't going to be able to make it. Mels wasn't a "wedding person," apparently, though Sherlock didn't know what that meant. And then she told him that he should really go to Rory's stag night. For some reason, he'd listened. Well, actually, he had a reason. A drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts as the saying goes and Sherlock knew that if he really wanted to find out how Amy had been for the past two years, interrogating drunks would be much easier.

"Sherlock?" The man with the dark curls turned to see Rory talking with a few of his friends from the hospital, taking in his shocked expression. It wasn't hard to infer that Mels hadn't told the groom that the detective was showing up. "What are you doing here?"

"Mels told me to drop by," he replied, failing to hide a smirk at Rory's shirt, red with a black-and-white picture of him and Amy. A bit cheesy, but that was Rory for you. He always liked those clichés and stupid traditions that people always saw on television and went gooey for. "I called to…"

"No, it's fine," Rory smiled, not needing Sherlock to explain himself. He'd been right beside Amy when she filled out that invitation, writing his own to one of his cousins. She was really nervous about it, but Amy had always felt bad about not apologizing, realizing months later that she was in the wrong and that Sherlock was serious, and then said that it was far too late to make any apologies. But she was getting over the Doctor and all that had happened two years before. It was one of the reasons she'd finally said yes to Rory, showing everyone that she wasn't waiting anymore. And now that she wasn't waiting anymore, she so badly wanted to fix her friendship with Sherlock Holmes. Rory wasn't really jealous like he used to be, though he still felt slightly scared of the older man. He already had Amy. There was no more competition. At least, that's what she'd convinced her fiance and everyone else in her life. "You can go in. Open bar."

Sherlock nodded once, managing a smile to seem friendly and made his way into the pub. It was small and already filled with men that were starting in on the alcohol, playing pool and laughing at dirty jokes, snickering and whispering about some surprise for Rory that night. Sherlock wondered what it could be, but their voices were too quiet and they were being too vague in case Rory came in and started listening in. He'd have to ask about that later when the groom wasn't around, but at the moment Sherlock decided to investigate further, Rory was already coming in through the doors, greeted by hoots and hollers from his friends. The rest of the night was all gambling and drinking and Sherlock slowly sipped at his own beer to blend in. He didn't plan on actually getting drunk, though. A lot of the guys would just smile and think that he was on another glass, too preoccupied with themselves to worry about the strange man that no one seemed to know.

Then came the speeches, slurred words and bawdy jokes that made Sherlock want to roll his eyes, but he had to stay friendly for this. He'd already picked up that Amy was still working as a kissogram and still living in that house. Sharon had ended up moving in with a boyfriend of hers and telling Amy that the house was much too big and not really her taste, handing her over the keys and full ownership of the house. She'd also taken three days to consider Rory's proposal, saying that she wanted him to be sure he knew what he was getting himself into. But Rory had never looked happier and even Sherlock knew the truth. That was her last ditch effort to buy some time for the Doctor. It obviously hadn't worked out. Did that mean she really wanted this marriage? Or was she still waiting for the Doctor deep down? Would she ever truly stop waiting? Only Rory seemed to believe so and even though Sherlock hadn't seen her in two years, he could tell that maybe she wasn't.

After the speeches, everyone went back to celebrating as Sherlock sat at the bar, looking over a few seats to his left to see Rory on the phone. He wondered what unfortunate soul was receiving this drunken call. "Hey! It's me! Hello! How are you?" Rory cried happily into his mobile phone, grin on his face and the alcohol clearly having some effect on him. "Um, the reason for this call is because I haven't told you for seven hours that I love you, which is a scandal! An even if we weren't getting married tomorrow I'd ask you to marry me anyway. Yes I would! Because you… Are… Smashing!" Oh, poor Amelia. Sherlock shook his head, taking another small drink of his beer. It was the start of his second glass and alcohol had yet to really affect him yet. There was a commotion suddenly and he saw a flash of pink out of the corner of his eye. Even Rory seemed to notice because he was turning around, stammering into the phone that he had to go. Sherlock looked over his shoulder and saw a paper cake. He was starting to get flashbacks of his birthday with Amy and his own surprise that he'd gotten. He wondered if she ever told Rory about that.

Rory made his way to the center of the room, Sherlock staying in his seat, not really interested in the show that was about to happen. Thank God he wasn't the victim this time, though he could hardly complain. Getting Amy as his kissogram was much better than getting some other unintelligent woman with daddy issues and no self-esteem left. It wasn't until he heard an unfamiliar man's voice boom after the ripping of paper that Sherlock swiveled around in his stool, the room completely silent as the men looked at a strange man standing in the fake stripper cake. He was wearing a tweed jacket and bow tie and Sherlock felt like he knew him from somewhere. It was too loud to go in his mind palace, though, but then he placed it. This was the man that had run out in front of his taxi that day he'd come to Leadworth, the day that Amy started waiting again. But did this mean… No… This couldn't be him, could it? But something was definitely off… That was two years ago and this man hadn't aged a bit...

"Rory! What a relief! I thought I'd burst out of the wrong cake! Again…" the man grinned, meeting the eyes of the future groom after looking around the room, confused, "That reminds me! There's a girl standing outside in a bikini. Could somebody let her in and give her a jumper? Lucy. Lovely girl_. Diabetic._"

No. This couldn't possibly be Amy's Raggedy Doctor. He was absolutely ridiculous, completely the opposite of Sherlock, it seemed! And he'd been a replacement, hadn't he? No. This _couldn't _be the old time traveler that went all over time and space and saved the world. He looked like a complete idiot, especially with that bow tie, and he barely looked older than Sherlock. Still… _Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth…_ This man had something off with him. He was just like Amy, so many contradictions and secrets burrowed deeply inside him. He was even trickier to read than she was.

"Now then. Rory. We need to talk about your fiancée," the man in the bow tie continued. He'd yet to officially introduce himself, but from the shocked look on Rory's face, he knew him well. And he definitely didn't expect him to show up. This _had _to be the Doctor. Sherlock was sure of it. But how had Amy gotten so obsessed with a fool like this? _Well, she's marrying Rory isn't she_? he thought dryly. He watched Rory smile and motion down to his shirt, the picture of him and Amy clear to any onlooker. Maybe he'd decided that this Doctor character was here to actually celebrate stag night with them. Oh, how wrong Rory would be for thinking that if he was, though. "She tried to kiss me. Tell you what though, you're a lucky man. She's a _great_ kisser!"

Those next words sent anger surging through Sherlock's blood, his grip tightening on his glass, Rory's frown seen from the corner of his eye. There was an awkward tension over the room, people waiting for Rory's move. Was he going to try and beat this guy up? It would be completely out of character. He'd never been one of those that fought. It was the Doctor that continued speaking, clearing his throat when he realized what he'd just said. "Funny how you can say something in your head and it _sounds _fine…"

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><p>The party had gone back to normal, as normal as they could really get after such an awkward announcement. The Doctor was off trying to explain the situation to a still upset Rory and Sherlock watched from a distance, throwing back his beer and no longer being careful with his drinking pace. Why? He already knew what Amy had been up to since they'd last met. She had always been waiting, continued on with that stupid kissogram job because it was such a nice distraction for her and she stayed with Rory because he was safe and didn't say anything about her waiting for her Doctor like Sherlock would have. And then he'd come back, her knight in shining armor. He looked completely ridiculous. Sherlock didn't see what she saw in him.<p>

He turned back to the bartender, ordering another drink. How could she prefer _him _over Sherlock? They seemed to be polar opposites almost. How could she even talk to that madman without going completely crazy herself? Oh, wait. She had. The night he'd visited her when she was 7 years old. It wasn't the kind of mad that put you into a psych ward, but the Doctor had obviously changed the wavelength that little Amelia's brain worked upon. He showed her things that rarely anyone else got to bear witness to. Suddenly, he was starting to see why she preferred him, but that just made Sherlock angrier. He could never show her all the stars. He barely even knew about astrology anyways. When would it ever come in handy in a case?

Sherlock drank more of the bitter liquid, deciding he was going to up and say something, introduce himself. Maybe there'd be a flicker in the Doctor's eye of recognition, meaning that Amy had talked about him before. He knew he was being completely silly, but Sherlock blamed that on his alcohol levels. This certainly wouldn't mean anything when he was sober, would it? Well… Maybe he'd just forget about the whole thing. No, wait. Sherlock hated forgetting things. It drove him up the wall. He also hated getting distracted by his own thoughts, which was exactly what he was doing right then. Hadn't he wanted to do something? Oh, right! Talking to the Doctor and giving him a piece of his mind! He turned around in his chair, ignoring the irritation he felt at the world swirling about him just a bit. But the corner where Rory and the Doctor once stood was empty. They were gone.

He tried not to sway too bad when he got up from his seat, grabbing his scarf off the bar and making his way outside. They were leaving, weren't they? The Doctor was going to take some bumbling idiot like Rory and not takeSherlock Holmes? That just sounded silly to the drunken consulting detective and he wouldn't have it. They all got to see these amazing stars, so why couldn't he? They got to spend every moment with Amy, watching her eyes light up as she looked up at some new star billions of light years away from Leadworth. Why couldn't he just get one glimpse of her? It'd been so long…

There was a blue box that Sherlock probably would have dismissed as odd, seeing as it seemed to be from the early '60s. There weren't any police telephone boxes anymore and there certainly wouldn't be one in Leadworth right next to a pub. But he remembered Amelia's drawings when she was a kid. There was always that man and his box, his blue time machine. That was the…. Well, the name was slipping from his mind but it definitely started with a "T." Sherlock stumbled his way across the parking lot towards it, but jumped and stopped in his tracks just a few feet away from it when it started making noises. There was suddenly a breeze and then the box seemed to be… Well, _fading_. The noise was unlike anything he'd ever heard… No. He'd heard this before. Once. That day when the televisions and radios all displayed that one message. Sherlock had stopped in the driveway, but Amy and Rory and continued into the garden. And then this song had filled the air… Sherlock was starting to realize all too late what this meant. "No! No, wait!" he cried, running up to the box to bang on the doors, but it was already practically gone, "Please! Amelia! It's me, Sherlock! Please!"

Then, it vanished, going off to some planet or point in time, leaving a drunk Sherlock Holmes with his mouth hanging open, all alone on a warm summer's night.

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	9. SkyRocket Away From Me

**Sorry that this took a while, but I've been working on my other Eleven/Amy fic so that I can get it done by the end of Series 7 :P In any case, here's the next one! A bit short, but trust me, you'll see some Sherlock/Amy-ness very soon! I just wanted to show what Amy's been doing and blah blah blah.**

**I own nothing! And review to get a sneak peek!**

Amy sat in the console room waiting for the Doctor to get back. He'd managed to slip out of the redhead's reach when she tried to grab him by the collar of his tweed jacket and keep the Time Lord _away _from Rory's stag night, but he was quick. He'd been gone for a while, though, and a part of Amy wondered if he'd be long enough so that she could slip away for a moment and find Mels or _someone _to talk to about what had been happening for the past few weeks while she was on board the TARDIS. Amy almost even thought about going to Sherlock, knowing he was probably staying at the local inn in town. She remembered how excited she'd felt getting the news that he was coming. It must mean that he'd forgiven her, right?

She knew it was stupid not to go to him immediately after things had happened. She should have chased Sherlock right out of the house, or called the next day, or showed up at his door with an apology. Amy knew that she shouldn't have waited so long, or sent that invitation in hopes that Sherlock would see that she really missed him and wanted him to be there for her. Though Mels and Rory were really good friends and all, neither ever really challenged her like Sherlock. While Rory praised her and let Amy walk all over him, Sherlock would put her in her place, just as she did with him. If she was being out of line, he'd tell her, just like he had that day he'd walked out her door.

At first, it was all about pride. Amy didn't want to give in and cave. She didn't want to admit that she was wrong. She was young and headstrong and stubborn and she knew it. But Sherlock was the same way and she really regretted thinking so stupidly. By the time she realized how dumb it was, it was already too late. And Amy had convinced herself that Sherlock wouldn't forgive her anyways. He'd probably already found someone else to help him solve crimes and be his best friend, to find the things that he missed. But Amy had never gotten over him.

Everywhere the Doctor took her, Amy remembered Sherlock and all the lessons he'd given her. The Doctor might just think she was clever because of that crack in her wall, but it was really because of her childhood best friend that taught her to think and see the world in a different way. It was what the Doctor did as well, but in a completely different way. Amy didn't want to admit it, but maybe she kissed the Doctor because he reminded her so much of her Sherly, teasing her, being there for her and her being there for him, helping him see things and vice versa. He was wise and, though appearing strong, the Time Lord was terribly fragile. She didn't kiss the Doctor because she loved him and wanted to be with him. She kissed him because he was the closest thing she had to what she really wanted. She'd thought about it when she couldn't open her eyes, what she really wanted. Amy would never tell anyone, but it wasn't the Doctor she was thinking about with her eyes closed, wandering in the forest of Weeping Angels. It was Sherlock. It was always Sherlock.

Without him in Amy's life, she would never have drawn the lines of similarity between the Doctor and the Star Whale, ultimately saving the day on her very first trip in time and space. Without Sherlock, Amy never would have noticed the blimp on the map of the Weeping Angels either, stopping the image and saving her from getting her neck snapped by a statue. Everywhere she went, Amy thought about what Sherlock would say if he were there. Of course, she remembered when they were little and he said that London would be the only place for him, but still… She knew he would be just the tiniest bit excited to meet Winston Churchill. And he'd be way more helpful on these trips than her.

Amy walked to the TARDIS door, slow and a bit unsure of what she was doing. She knew she had feelings for Sherlock still, but she was getting married to Rory in the morning. He was on his way to her right now if the Doctor's plan to get her fiancé worked out. Amy had to remind herself that loving Sherlock was hopeless. He couldn't have feelings for people like that. He could barely handle a friendship as close as theirs. But would Amy be able to get married when the Doctor dropped her off? Would she be able to walk down that aisle, right past that man with his stupid, black curls and cat-like blue eyes and get married to a man that everyone knew Amy was settling on? Rory was her best friend, but even he, deep down, knew that he was second best. He just didn't know who to.

Right as she reached the door, a man in a bow tie walked in with a smile on his face, but Amy could tell something was slightly wrong by the look in his eyes. He'd done something she wasn't going to be pleased with. Following him was an irritated looking Rory, his arms crossed over his black vest and staring down at Amy's feet as he walked in. Recognizing the boots, his gaze panned up her body and to her face. She inhaled sharply at the betrayal and hurt in those green irises.

"He told you… _Everything_, didn't he?" she asked hesitantly. Rory didn't even need to respond and he chose not to. He just went up to the console, Amy following meekly behind. She had never seen Rory this angry with her and knew it was because she'd hit a soft nerve with him by kissing the Doctor. He'd always been insecure about the Time Lord and what she felt for him. Amy didn't really blame him, though. She _did _make him dress up so many times… But it wasn't like that. At all. Sure, he had some great traits to him, but the man wore a _bow tie _for goodness sake! And Amy wouldn't deny that she'd sort of held onto that childhood crush she'd had growing up, but after finding out about River, Amy knew that they wouldn't ever work out. That thing in the bedroom was just supposed to be a… A quick thing. It wasn't supposed to mean anything. It was just to prove to herself that she still had control of her life, that she could get out of marrying Rory if she really wanted to. It was to get her mind off a certain consulting detective, even though for a second, she pretended it was him she was kissing instead of the Doctor. He was great and all, but it sure as hell didn't beat that kiss in the bar on Sherlock's birthday.

Amy walked up to the Doctor, glaring and he shrugged, giving her an apologetic smile. "It sort of just slipped out," he said sheepishly, "One minute, I'm in a paper cake, the next I'm being stared down by everyone at the stag part-"

"You told _everyone _at his stag party?" she cried, interrupting him. That was going to go great when she saw Rory's friends and male family members next. This was just going perfect with her delusional kissogram image Amy had made of herself.

"Again, it slipped out!" The Doctor started entering coordinates, averting Amy's gaze. "Now, any ideas?"

"Oh, I can give you a few of my ideas, Doctor," Amy growled. There was no way she was going to let him get away with this.

"Open space, it is! Rory, I'd hold on if I were you. It gets a bit wibbly in here," the Time Lord advised.

"Yeah," Amy shot back, "Because _someone _leaves the brakes on!"

"It's better with the brakes on! I like the noise! It's a nice noise!" The Doctor pulled the lever that would send them off to drift until he could figure out a way out of the mess he'd made. It'd only gotten worse bringing Rory aboard, but he really couldn't blame anyone but his big mouth for that one.

For a moment, Amy thought she heard something. But… It couldn't be what she thought it was. It sounded like someone was calling her name, like someone wanted her to stop and open the door and see them. It sounded like… Well… It sounded like Sherlock Holmes was banging on that door… But… It _couldn't _be…


	10. Hard to Know That You Still Care

**Hey, guys! Sorry for the delay. I really sorta... I didn't exactly know where I was going with this story, but I've got a plot now, and I'm just telling you that I'm not sticking with canon anymore xD Anyways. Hopefully, I won't have such a long interval with the next chapter. I don't think I will, though. Now that I know where I'm going, I'm actually pretty excited to continue it.**

**This one is placed after Rory gets wiped from existence in the Silurian episodes. It's a bit short, but that's only because I wanted to introduce some new issues. I promise the next one will have more content and words and all that goodness!**

**Leave a review and you'll get a sneak peek to the next chapter(: Also... I own nothing! Enjoy!**

The past couple of weeks had been strange ones for Amelia Pond, which was really saying something seeing as she traveled with an alien in a time machine disguised as a phone box. But lately, she felt like something was wrong, like she'd lost something she couldn't quite remember, something that was near and dear to her. It was why she'd chosen this next stop. One of the other odd things was that the Doctor was being strangely nice to Amy. He took her to the Trojan gardens, to visit van Gogh, and now he was even taking her to London, despite the fact that things never went quite smoothly for the people of the city when the Time Lord stopped by.

She knew that things between her and her old friend hadn't gone well, not since that day that he'd walked out and left her with only her aunt to care for her. Amy felt like there was something missing about that, but she didn't even think much about it. She was just worried about Sherlock Holmes. Why was she having this feeling of losing something important? Some_one _important? Had something happened to him? He was the only one Amy had ever really counted as a friend, though it had only been for one lazy summer. She couldn't remember anyone else willing to play Raggedy Doctor with her on a daily basis.

"What are we doing here, exactly?" the Doctor asked, his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels and nodding towards a black door. They'd been standing there for a good ten minutes with Amy debating whether or not to knock. "Who lives here?"

"Just an old friend," Amy murmured, staring at the numbers. She knew this was where he lived. She'd sent some mail to his old address, that single apartment she'd dropped him off at the night Amy had unexpectedly shown up to Sherlock's birthday. It'd been sent back, though, and Amy had had to beg her aunt for his mother's number and ask where he'd moved. And here they were, the Doctor and Amy Pond, standing at 221 Baker Street. "He lives in B."

"'He'?" The Doctor had never heard Amy mention any old friends she'd had other than Rory, but he knew all too well that she wasn't able to remember her fiancé. Not after he'd jumped in front of the Doctor and taken the hit from a Silurian gun, then got sucked into a crack in time. The Doctor wasn't sure what to tell Amy. He didn't know how to make her remember. But he hated seeing her smile at something funny, then frown when she got an odd feeling that she shouldn't even be happy. He knew somewhere inside that impossible girl, there was a part of her that knew Rory was gone and missed him deeply, but the Time Lord was still trying to figure out a way to make that piece of her resurface.

"Yeah, he's a 'he,'" she replied, irritated with his questions. She was a bit busy trying to focus on her internal debate. "Got a problem with that?"

"Depends, are you going to ring the doorbell anytime soon?"

"Shut up, Stupid. We just... We left everything on bad terms. But I just feel like I've lost something really important, you know?"

The Doctor didn't say anything, though he knew perfectly well what Amy was talking about. She was just getting the person wrong. Now if only she could remember, remember who it was that had really vanished. Rory Williams. The Time Lord was curious as to who this friend was, though. So, it was him that moved towards the door.

"Doctor! No!" she hissed, grabbing the sleeve of his tweed jacket.

"Amelia?"

The voice was so familiar and Amy knew exactly who it was. She turned to her right to see the tall man with the curly, black hair who had just walked up. There was someone with him, a shorter man with blonde hair and kind eyes. She didn't have time to wonder who it was, too focused on maintaining her breathing as icy blue met warm, hazel-y green.

"Sherlock."

"What on earth are you doing here?" he asked. Sherlock observed Amy closely. She seemed to have changed since the last time they had seen each other, though that wasn't really saying much since it'd been so long ago. But it was the look in her eyes that Sherlock noticed the most. They looked… Older, like they knew secrets to things that he would never know. He could see the same look in the eyes of the man beside her, and he instantly recognized him as the Doctor. The man in the bow tie and tweed jacket. He looked absolutely ridiculous, but his eyes were ancient and sad. Emotions were never much of Sherlock's thing, though.

"I- I just dropped by to see you," Amy answered, taking Sherlock in. He looked the exact same. She wondered who this man was that he was with. "I don't know. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Amy didn't have an answer for him, but thankfully, his friend broke in. "Sorry," the man said, "It seems Sherlock's forgotten his manners. I'm John, John Watson."

The Doctor cocked his head curiously at John. "Wait, John Watson?" he repeated, then turned to look at Sherlock, "And your name is Sherlock…"

"Holmes," he finished, "Sherlock Holmes, the world's one and only consulting detective."

"And let's not forget the greatest," Amy added, feeling a grin creep up her lips. Her and John both caught the twitch in his lip that was Sherlock's version of a smile. This, of course, intrigued the smaller man. This redheaded girl and her friend with the bow tie weren't obviously just random people, not to Sherlock anyways.

"This is impossible," the Doctor breathed, putting it all together with an excited grin, "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, the greatest mystery-solving duo in human literature! And look! 221B Baker Street! How had I not seen that before? Stupid, old Doctor! But how did you two get to modern day London?"

The three humans stared at the Time Lord oddly. "Doctor, what on Earth are you talking about?" Amy asked, hand on her hip.

He looked back at Amy this time, his grin falling, then looked back at John and Sherlock. The Doctor had picked up on a lot of strange things with his newest companion. Firstly, there was that duck pond. How did she know it was a duck pond if there weren't any ducks? And why hadn't she known what the Daleks were back in WWII London? And now she'd never heard of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? She'd obviously heard of Sherlock Holmes… But not in the way that she was supposed to. And what was this book character doing in 2010 London? It didn't make any sense, but nothing ever really did when it concerned Amelia Pond.

Sherlock stared back at the Doctor wordlessly, not really liking the way he was being sized up. He knew it was the same way he looked at other people, though, analyzing every single feature and making connections to their everyday life. He still couldn't come up with anything significant or useful for the Doctor, though. He was going to take a little bit more time. Not to mention, his words bothered Sherlock. What were they even supposed to mean? He memorized every little bit of it, though, and stored it in his mind palace for later.

John and Amy both watched the two great men measure each other up awkwardly, then met each other's eyes and smiled awkwardly. John got out his keys. "Well, then," he said, clearing his throat, "Since Sherlock failed to, why don't I invited you both inside. Mrs. Hudson could probably make some tea."

"Actually, we'll have to take a rain check," the Doctor replied, looking away from Sherlock's ice blue eyes. He reached over and gave John a hug, air-kissing both sides of his face. He moved to do the same thing was Sherlock, but then faltered when he saw the warning in his eyes and body language. While Sherlock seemed to have the hugest comfort bubble in the universe, the Doctor honestly had no idea what that was. He was always hugging everyone and this made things just a bit more awkward between him and the detective. "Lovely meeting both of you, really… Wasn't expecting that. Anyways! Come along, Pond. We've got planets to go save!"

"But we just got here!" she protested, but the Doctor was already walking away and Amy knew he wasn't even going to give her the chance to argue. She sighed, looking at Sherlock and giving him a small smile. "I'm so glad you're okay, Sherlock. And… I'm sorry. About everything." She was sorry that she'd been such an idiot before, that she hadn't done this sooner. Amy knew apologizing to Sherlock was admitting a sort of defeat and would probably shoot up his ego, but she didn't care. She'd spent two years not talking to him and now that she was putting her life in danger all the time, Amy wanted to patch things up. Before she got trapped on some cold star or something and didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to him at all.

"Amelia Pond," Sherlock said simply, "You finally found your Raggedy Doctor." All three could detect the edge in his voice.

"I-It's not like that," Amy replied, rubbing her arm, "I mean, I don't know." There was that kiss… But how was she supposed to tell him that she'd only been imagining him. She was starting to regret coming at all. Her feelings were starting to come back up and Amy knew that Sherlock would never return them. He wasn't capable of feeling this way. "We're just friends, Sherly."

"You better go," he said, looking away, "We wouldn't want him to leave you behind again, would we?"

Amy stared at him for a few moments. She knew that he forgave her. If he didn't, Sherlock wouldn't be talking to her at all right then. But did he have to be so stubborn and still pretend? And to think that he could fool her, too. "Oh, shut up, you idiot," she sighed, rolling her eyes and closing the distance, wrapping her arms around him and hugging the detective tightly. Sherlock made a strangled noise out of surprise with his arms raised, but then they started to slowly curl around Amy's form. John stared in amazement at this Amelia Pond, the only girl that he had ever seen Sherlock hug.

"I'll come back soon, yeah?" she asked, letting go and starting to walk backwards to the blue phone box, "It was nice meeting you, John!"

"Um, nice meeting you too?" The smaller man was really just confused with this whole encounter. Who were these two, Amy Pond and the Doctor? And why was there a random police phone box standing on the street. The only time John had ever seen those was in old movies. What were they doing going inside it?

"Bye, Sherly!" she smiled, before going inside.

The two men stood out there, watching the box, just waiting for something to happen. And, moments later, it did. John watched as the box started to make a loud grating noise and seemed to start disappearing before their eyes. He looked at Sherlock, who seemed absolutely controlled despite the situation. "What the hell was that?"

He didn't answer immediately. Sherlock was busy remembering how he'd run up to that box one night, banging against the door and begging Amy to open the door. It seemed so hazy, though, and there were things that didn't add up. Why had he even been in Leadworth anyways? It was annoying Sherlock, but he saved that for later as well, turning to John and smiling. "That was Amelia Pond."

* * *

><p>"Doctor, we barely got to talk at all!" Amy shouted right as the TARDIS went into auto-pilot, drifting in some safe part of space, lightyears away from 221B Baker Street. "We didn't<em> have<em> to leave!"

"Amy, do you remember Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?" the Doctor asked, coming up to her with and poking his sonic screwdriver in her face, eyeing her curiously.

"Sir… What?" she replied, her face scrunching up in confusion. What did some guy have to do with this anyways? Was he somehow involved in whatever adventure the Doctor had been so eager to go on?

"Come on, Pond," he persisted, "You have to have heard of him. He was a writer."

"Sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about. Besides, what does that have to do with anything?"

The Doctor peered closely into her eyes and gave her a small, soft smile. "Oh, Amelia Pond," he sighed, "Will you ever make sense?"

"What?"

"Nothing!" the Doctor cried happily, backing up and changing his whole demeanor and was now hopping gleefully around the TARDIS. He didn't want Amy to worry, so he put on his 'happy traveler' act. "Now, how would you like to see the fifth moon of Cinda Callista? It's absolutely beautiful! Oh, and the natives! Their skin is the shade of lilacs and they smell like…"

Amy smiled and listened to the Doctor go on about whatever place he wanted to take her next, but she couldn't help letting her mind drift back to that piece of sidewalk in front of that black door with the man in the long coat and blue scarf.

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	11. While You're Here In My Arms

**Hi, guys! Sorry if this took forever. I actually had a completely different chapter planned, but then I made that Chapter 12 and rewrote Chapter 11 xP ANYWAYS. Yes. It's here now. And I do believe that I've made up for the tiny absence(; **

**Review to get a sneak peek and remember that I own absolutely nothing! Thanks for sticking through this, guys!(:**

The next time that Amelia Pond showed up at 221B Baker Street, John was out. It had taken the Doctor a lot of convincing to let her go, especially since she requested that she go alone. Amy didn't understand why he was being so difficult about letting her see Sherlock. She would have guessed jealousy, but the Doctor had yet to make a move on her in that sort of way and had batted off any previous advances of her own towards him. Amy knew that something was up, though, and so she kept pressing on him, making him feel uncomfortable and flirting to see if she could finally just get him to say _something_. But he never did.

So her tactic in getting him to let her go visit her friend worked perfectly. "Come on, Doctor," Amy pouted, her bottom lip jutting out and moving her face in his way to block his view of the console. Her hair dangled down and tickled his hands, making the Doctor quickly move them. "I just want to drop in for a few minutes, maybe."

"Absolutely not, Pond," the Doctor said, shaking his head and moving a foot away from the redhead. Despite the fact that he purely thought of Amy as a friend and nothing else, he couldn't deny that she was very pretty and she knew how to work her advantages. He knew he could easily lose this fight if she distracted him enough. "You don't understand how dangerous that man is."

"Oh, and you're not dangerous?" she challenged, crossing her arms and skipping back over to him, making sure to get into the Doctor's comfort zone, "The madman in the magic box with arch enemies who is always getting into trouble and running away from hostile aliens that want us off their planet."

The Doctor pursed his lips and gave her a glare. "Fair point, but if you don't remember, _I'm _the one that controls this ship, so _I _get to pick where we're going. And 221B Baker Street is definitely not on the agenda today."

He didn't want to tell Amy why he _really _didn't want to go visit Sherlock Holmes, the first and only consulting detective in the world, mainly because the Doctor hadn't quite figured that situation all the way out yet. He didn't know how two of the greatest and most recognized characters of English literature could possibly have found their way in modern-day London. The Doctor couldn't help but think of all the oddities in Amy's life and knew that the strangeness of her knowing Sherlock Holmes was more than just coincidence. But the Time Lord already had a lot on his plate. He was still busy saving worlds and running all over time and space, still trying to figure out what was with the random cracks in time, and still trying to help Amy remember Rory. Going right out and saying anything would just make Amy suspicious, though, and the Doctor didn't want her worrying, not until it was all figured out.

Amy glared right back at the Doctor, her arms still crossed before she decided she was going to have to take it up a notch. Her innocent, puppy-dog face wasn't working. So maybe her little seduction act would. She gave the Doctor a flirty smirk, her body language starting to change instantly. The Time Lord saw this change and inwardly groaned. He gave her a wary glance, but Amy ignored it, closing the distance once more between herself and the Doctor. "Fine," she sighed, hopping up on the console in front of him and pulling lightly on his tweed jacket, "Maybe a night in the TARDIS with just us two, then, yeah? I'm sure I can think of a few ways to make it a little more… _Interesting_."

His eyes widened and the Doctor quickly removed Amy's hands from his jacket, clearing his throat nervously. "No, uh, I- I don't think that that would be a very good idea," he stammered, getting as flustered as Amy thought he would. She found his asexuality frustrating and amusing at the same time.

"Oh, but I don't think I really feel like doing much else, Doctor," Amy sighed dramatically, smoothing her hands down his arms, "All I wanted to do was see an old friend, but if you don't want me leaving, then you can at least-"

"Fine! Okay!" the Doctor interruptour or so… Well, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He had yet to see any immediate danger other than the cases that he knew Sherlock was taking, mainly because he'd read those books a few hundred times. It was one of his favorite reads when it came to Earth literature. "For an hour or two, and _only _because I have some upgrades to make on the TARDIS!" He couldn't have Amy thinking she had some real control over him.

Of course, the redhead wasn't fooled. She smirked and hopped off the console, sitting down in one of the chairs nearby as thed, not wanting to know what Amy thought he could at least do for her. Maybe if he let her visit for an he Doctor typed in the coordinates. All of her flirty attitude was gone, instead replaced by cockiness and triumph.

* * *

><p>Sherlock paced back and forth across the room, twirling the bow to his violin around and around between his slender fingers. He had just solved a case, one the cops back in the Scotland Yard were still celebrating that night. But the man with the dark curls could already feel the high of his victory starting to disappear. It never usually happened this quickly, but maybe that was because Sherlock felt like he was missing something, that this crime was only part of a smaller picture.<p>

Much to his initial delight, it was another serial killer. This one had been a copycat of Jack the Ripper, too, which was always a favorite of Sherlock's. Of course, this one was far simpler to solve, maybe because of the technology, but the detective liked to think that this was just because the man had been a complete amateur, not at all capturing the brilliance in the crimes committed by the original. He sighed to himself, remembering the last word on the dying man's lips. _Moriarty. _It was the same name from the cab driver, and the mystery of it was unnerving Sherlock. Who was this man, and why did all these killers seem to know him? The questions whirled in the consulting detective's brain, making him feel like he had solved nothing at all.

He moved back over to the love seat and picked up the violin, deciding he needed it to help him think for a bit. Sherlock's clever hands began moving as he started to play one of his favorite pieces. If he had been playing a little quieter, he maybe would have heard the noise from outside that meant that he had a visitor. Sherlock continued playing, not hearing the whirring from outside, nor the footsteps up the stairs that stopped just outside his door. However, he _did_ hear the knock on the door.

At first, he chose to ignore it, but it was persistent and loud, just like the visitor, except Sherlock didn't really know that yet. He tried to continue on with the music, but the knocking didn't stop. He took the bow off the string and let out an angry huff. "Shut up!" he yelled.

"Yeah?" a very familiar Scottish accent called through the door. He could just hear the smirk in her voice. "Why don't you come open the door and make me, Sherly?"

Sherlock was instantly up. He wondered at first why he seemed so eager, but dismissed it and denied the fact that he had gotten up so quickly, taking long strides over to the door. This was nothing special. He walked over and paced a couple times, then looked through the hole in the door. It was most definitely Amy Pond standing outside, hand on her hip and looking rather impatient. Sherlock smirked. "Like that would make a difference," he retorted, "Since when have you ever been the listening type, Amelia?"

"Shut up, idiot, and open the door before I kick it down myself," she threatened.

His smirk got even bigger and he was glad that no one could see it. "I'd like to see you try." Sherlock opened the door after that, and was instantly greeted by the smell of Amy, the feel of her arms around his neck. Sherlock felt a bit of irritation with the lack of space that she was giving him, but it was hard to resist at this point, so he just sighed and let her hug him. Amy accepted it, knowing that was the best she was going to get at this point.

"So, where's John?" she asked, looking around the place with a large amount of curiosity. That was the thing about Amy, though. She was always so interested by things, even though she pretended not to care half the time. It was one of the qualities that had always been so helpful when she was working with Sherlock on a case.

"Where's your Raggedy Doctor?" Sherlock returned, noticing that he hadn't seen anyone else at the door before he shut it close. He even peeked down and out the window, looking for the blue box, but it was nowhere to be seen. It was hard to keep the bite out of his voice when he brought that strange man up in conversation. There was definitely something going on with him, some secrets that he was keeping, and Sherlock could feel that there was most certainly something going on between the Doctor and Amy. But, then again, why would he care? Relationships were always such trivial matters that Sherlock had never cared enough about to take notice of for more than a millisecond.

Amy had already made her way over to the mantel and was checking out the skull when she turned around and shrugged. "He had some repairs to make," she answered simply, "Besides, I thought it might be a bit nicer with just me here. The Doctor doesn't like staying in one place for too long. Not unless you count the TARDIS, I guess."

Sherlock stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the living room, watching Amy take it all in: the messy kitchen, the mismatched pillows on the furniture, the weird knick-knacks lying about that John had once referred to as rubbish. She seemed to have a little smile on her face, though, and Sherlock hadn't the faintest idea why. "I see you're admiring my interior decorating skills," he said, pulling up alongside her, "John didn't seem to very much appreciate them when he first moved in here."

"It's very… You," Amy laughed. Sherlock didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or a jab, but he saw the kindness in her warm hazel eyes and knew that nothing she said towards him was meant maliciously. He felt that strange pull that he had been feeling for quite a while when it came to Amy Pond, the feelings that had grown when they were partners, solving crimes together. He had grown a bit attached to her, just like he had with John, except this was a completely different. His roommate was always easy to read, but Amy wasn't, and it constantly intrigued him. She was the one mystery, apart from this Moriarty guy, that had never managed to be fully figured out by the consulting detective. She intrigued him, and she always would.

He didn't say anything, continuing to watch her as she circled around the rooms and took everything in. Sherlock knew it was very different than the apartment he had had before, where it was plain and purely functional. Amy started to move towards the kitchen and he could feel his lips quirk in amusement. He remembered her face when she was little and would find his experiments everywhere. Little did she know that he was hiding some human parts in jars in the fridge. It was purely scientific, though. Amy opened up a cupboard and backed away quickly, gasping in surprise. Even though she traveled with an alien that was nine centuries old, Sherlock still managed to beat the Doctor in the 'weirdness' department.

"So," Amy started casually, clearing her throat and trying to pretend that they both just hadn't seen her jump almost a foot in the air, "John is-"

"He went out," Sherlock interrupted, already assuming what she was going to say, "I can already see that you're going to inquire further, so I'll just tell you right now that he's gone with Lestrade and his officers down to some grubby pub to celebrate an investigation they hardly did anything in other than stand around looking like useless morons. And, no, John was not a part of that."

"I hate it when you do that," she sighed with a roll of her eyes, but they both knew she was lying. It was always nice for Amy that someone had finally understood her. Even when they were kids… Her head started to throb as she thought back to her childhood and who the child was that she was trying to remember, the one that was could never catch up with her but never tried stopping… The name and face were slipping from Amy's mind and she shook her head, deciding it was nothing. Instead, she crossed her arms and leaned against the large doorway that joined the kitchen and the living room. "Didn't you want to go?"

"Go?" he echoed, "Why would I? They're idiots, every single officer on that force and talking to them is like talking to primitive apes."

"Oi, you be nice, Mister! There's some good people on there!"

"Maybe morally, but mentally?" Sherlock shrugged and tilted his head slightly.

"Not everyone can be as smart as you, Sherly," Amy said, a playful lilt in her voice. She started walking towards him, but he didn't find the decreasing proximity to be a problem at this point.

"_You _never have a problem keeping up."

"Was that an actual compliment, Mr. Holmes?" she smiled, her tone disbelieving.

Sherlock didn't answer for a moment, considering it. He knew why she would be a little shocked that he'd said something nice about her. The consulting detective was never one for talking about the positives in people other than himself. Usually, he pointed out the _flaws_. But it was true, what he had said, and pointing out the truth was one his things as well. So, it couldn't be considered too strange, could it? When Sherlock finally replied, he sounded just as curious about it as Amy did. "I do believe it was, Miss Pond."

"Hm, well you know what me and my big, smart brain think?" she asked.

"It's '_my big, smart brain and I,_'" Sherlock corrected, observing that she was approximately two and a half feet away, "And I never said you were smart. I just said you don't have a problem keeping up, Amelia. Don't try drawing conclusions. That's my job." Being able to insult made him feel a little more comfortable and in control.

Amy rolled her eyes. "You never said I was stupid, either. Actually, I think we both know that I'm pretty good at solving mysteries. That's why I already know why you didn't go with John tonight. It's not just 'cause you hate talking to primitive apes, which apparently doesn't include myself seeing as you let me in. I think you're afraid."

"Afraid?" Sherlock snorted. Amy wasn't helping herself with her argument of being smart right at that point. He was definitely not afraid of Lestrade or any of his officers. In fact, they all seemed a bit more scared of him, though that probably had to do with the fact that Donovan and Anderson kept on insisting he was a psychopath.

"Yup," Amy replied, popping the 'p,' "You're afraid because of what they did to you last time."

"The last time?"

"Aw," she said, her lip jutting out in a pretend pout. Sherlock checked the distance again. 17 inches. "Don't tell me you forgot about our first kiss, Sherly." Amy didn't know why she was doing this. Yeah, Sherlock was attractive. His sharp cheekbones, blue, cat-like eyes, thick, dark curls… His perfectly smooth skin. But Amy knew that he wasn't interested in people like that. On one of their cases, she had teased him about a woman that was so obviously undressing the consulting detective with her eyes. It ended up leading to a semi-awkward conversation, but Sherlock had told Amy that he didn't date because he was married to his work and he only ever viewed his body as a vehicle to carry his mind around. So, basically, he didn't do anything. Amy knew this, and yet she still flirted with him and she wasn't sure why. He made her absolutely furious sometimes, but those feelings had started from that very first kiss in the pub, and though she had always put them in the back of her mind, Amy highly doubted that they had ever _really _disappeared.

"It's possible," Sherlock retorted, but he was lying. Of course he hadn't forgotten that kiss. He told himself that it meant nothing, of course, but it was hard to ignore right now when Amy was moving another three inches closer. Still, he kept his cool façade. "I try not to keep useless things in my head. They're just clutter and take up too much room."

Amy feigned hurt, but she knew it wasn't true. She'd seen his face that night. Sherlock had been shocked as hell, completely out of his comfort zone. And there was no way that he had forgotten the one time someone had caught him by complete surprise. "Oh, Sherly, your sociopath act really doesn't convince me," she sighed, putting a hand on her hip, "We both know you enjoyed it. I never had a single complaint from a customer."

"Yes, and all of them expected to be sexually assaulted. Mine was completely unexpected and not wanted."

"Not wanted?" Amy hummed. Sherlock couldn't even take his eyes off hers to calculate the closeness. But he could definitely feel heat radiating off of Amy's body and onto his. "Doesn't take a super genius to see through that lie, Sherly."

"What are you-"

"You kissed me back and you know it," she interrupted, her voice clearly showing that she wouldn't take any nonsense. She had always known this, that Sherlock had kissed her back that night in the pub. But Amy remembered the taste of alcohol on his lips and that had always been her excuse to not say something. But she was never good at keeping secrets, not ones like this, anyways. It was like with the Doctor. She had just exploded and asked a question that she had been asking for too long. Why had he said five minutes? And why had Sherlock kissed her that night?

"Amelia-" He could see where she was going with this, and it wasn't territory that Sherlock was very much confident in. It was foreign and strange and made his whole body feel like it was being pricked with needles. He could feel all his confidence fading and being replaced by something that made him feel very awkward.

"Just shut up for once, will you?" Amy sighed, exasperated. She gripped onto Sherlock's shirt and tried to move in, but he held her back, his hands going to the redhead's shoulders. She could feel her heart drop, realizing what she was doing, that she had let herself believe for a split second. She had over-read things, let her imagination get the better of her, like it always had. Ever since Amy was a little girl. But then Sherlock was moving one hand up and cupping her cheek. His eyes scanned every inch of her face and Amy knew what he was doing. He was observing the situation, committing this to his memory and keeping it safely hidden in that mind palace of his. In other words, he was merely just slowing them down.

Sherlock didn't know why he was doing this, which was something he didn't like, _not knowing_. He'd always been able to take control of situations and Amy was the only one who seemed to be able to change that. His whole body felt like it was being engulfed in flames, except the strange thing was that it felt kind of nice… Sherlock noted how his heart accelerated, the slight dilation in Amy's eyes. He saw her breath hitch just as his face was mere centimeters away and brushed his lips against hers just slightly, testing out how they felt on his. Just as good as they had before…

After that, Amy wasn't able to take it slow any longer. She crashed her lips against Sherlock's and, though startled at first, he didn't protest, making a small noise that came from the back of his throat. His hands tentatively went to Amy's hips and her fingers were getting tangled in his black curls, the redhead gasping into the kiss when she felt Sherlock pull her closer. He took this chance to slip his tongue inside and Amy responded quite enthusiastically.

The man observed the way her body was moving into his, the way her lips and tongue felt. He was starting to feel out of control and Sherlock tried to think of what was actually going on scientifically. Blood vessels were expanding. His heart rate was increasing. Hormones were rushing to his head, and the detective tried reciting them. _Oxytocin. Dopamine. Serotonin_. This was what he was good at, science. Maybe it would help stop all the nervousness. No, that was stupid. Because one of the hormones was adrenaline and that wasn't going to stop for a while. But Sherlock thought wrong on that last bit, because little did the pair know that their embrace was about to be interrupted. He had missed the footsteps coming up the stairs, but the scratching of a key against the lock was unmistakable.

Next thing Amy knew, he was pushing her away, the kiss ending, and John was walking in the door. She looked over at Sherlock and saw that he was perfectly composed, running his hands casually through his hair. It was like nothing had ever happened. But Amy could still feel the shock on her face and was still a tiny bit breathless. She swallowed, which helped a little.

"Hello, John," Sherlock smiled, which made Amy want to elbow him. Like _that _wasn't going to make it obvious that they had been up to something. "Look who came to visit."

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	12. If That's the Way It Must Be

**Hi, guys! Fancy meeting you all here(; Ummmm... Nothing to really say, I guess. Kind of goes into what happened while Amy and Sherlock were having their fun times. And... YEAH. Hope you liked that. Haha. I was sad and needed Pondlock fluff. Brief as it was. xP**

**Two things. First, I own nothing. Second, remember that I send sneak peeks to everyone that sends in a review!(: Okay. That's it. Enjoy!**

The next time that Amelia Pond showed up at 221B Baker Street, John was out. He'd been invited to go have drinks with Lestrade and the rest of the force. Sherlock had been, too, but he'd declined, and not so politely. It had been after another solved case and since that strange red-haired woman had shown up at the door, John had seen something different in his friend. Whoever she was, this girl was important, but it wasn't like he could be like Sherlock and just _observe _his friend to find out what it all meant. He wasn't like that. But he also couldn't go ahead and be blunt and ask him. Sherlock didn't want to talk about it. Whenever the subject was brought up, he smoothly changed the topic.

So, after a couple weeks, John had given up. Amy had said she'd be back, so he could just find out more another time. As for tonight, he was going to kick back and relax with some of his new friends, celebrating their most recent case. He rode in the cab alone to the bar that Lestrade had told him they'd all be at, dressed up in his usual sweater and jacket. There wasn't any real reason to be dressing up for this. They were all just going to get piss drunk anyways.

"John!" Lestrade yelled happily, just as he was supplying the drinks to everyone at their tables. It was a grubby bar with an old jukebox in the back, wooden furniture, and ugly, shaggy rugs. Pixie lights hung from the ceiling, but they seemed a bit old. They didn't lighten up the dim room much and some were flickering or completely out. But John saw the prices of the drinks and saw how dirt cheap they were. The cops were probably the only customers this place saw.

"Hey, Greg," John smiled. Unlike Sherlock, who still referred to everyone's last names, John had gotten to know some of the guys on here. Granted, he didn't like all of them. He shared his friend's distaste for Anderson and Sally Donovan, both of whom had picked on the pair more than once. "I see you guys already started."

"Yeah, well, the first round is on me," the lead detective replied as he took his own drink and moved over to John, walking over with him to the bar where Anderson and Donovan talked quietly, the woman giggling flirtatiously and the man chuckling, obviously giving himself points for saying something that probably wasn't at all romantic or clever.

The two saw their boss coming over and straightened up a bit, trying to make their conversation look a tiny bit more platonic. It really wasn't working, though. Anderson saw John and sneered. "Oh, look. Sherlock's tag-along. Where's Holmes?"

John ignored Anderson's comment, deciding to do what Sherlock never did when it came to dealing with this rat-like guy. He was just going to play nice. "Actually, he couldn't make it," he answered, "Maybe next time?"

Lestrade laughed. "Oh, I don't think so. He's probably still mad about the last time we took him out for drinks."

This made the other two laugh as well, but John just stood there looking confused. The bartender asked what he was having and he ordered a beer before turning back to the three. "What's so funny about the last time?"

"Well, it was a few years back and we found out it was Sherlock's birthday," Lestrade explained, leaning against the bar, "And we all decided to chip in and give him a little surprise."

"Didn't think he'd end up actually taking that kissogram home and making her his little pet, though, did we?" Donovan added.

John didn't say anything at first, mainly because those words weren't calculating in his head the right way. Though he had only been living with Sherlock for a little while, he had gotten to know the consulting detective well. And he definitely didn't seem to be the type that took kissograms home. On the contrary, Sherlock was practically asexual. He'd never once given John any hint of attraction towards anyone that might prove it wrong. Not men, not women. Sherlock only ever said he was married to his job.

He blinked after a few moments. "Wait, sorry. What?"

"Couldn't really blame him, could you?" Anderson asked, "The red hair and the long legs…"

Donovan shot her date a glare. She had apparently forgotten that she wasn't Anderson's wife. Actually, _that _poor woman was sitting at home with the kids. Still, Sally had never liked the kissogram and she wasn't afraid to voice her opinions now. "Oh, she wasn't that good-looking," she said with a roll of her eyes, "Though you could tell she really thought she was. Just as cocky as Sherlock, thinking she knew everything."

"She _did _help with some of the cases, Donovan," Lestrade reminded her. Unlike Sally, he had always thought Sherlock's old partner was lovely. Not only was she pleasant to look at, but she also had a wicked sense of humor and empathy that Sherlock had always seemed to lack. "She brought a good balance to Holmes, I think. Just like you, John."

John was trying to keep up with the conversation as best as he could. "She… Was his partner?"

Donovan cracked a smug smirk. "You weren't listening when I told you he would drop you just like he'd done to others before, were you?" she asked, "One day, Amy Pond was his best friend and the only person he could tolerate. She was his right-hand man. Just like you. And, one day, you're going to vanish, too. He can't actually _feel, _John. Sherlock'll get bored, like he always does. And then he'll find someone else."

The man took a long drink of his beer, finishing it off. He looked at Lestrade, who had been about to come to Sherlock's defense when he was called over by one of the other officers. Suddenly, John realized why his friend didn't like coming to these things. He set the glass down at the bar and turned back to face Donovan, looking her right in the eyes. "You're wrong about him," he said, his voice strong. John believed in everything that he was saying. "You're wrong about the both of us."

John whole-heartedly believed that Sherlock wouldn't grow tired of him. He was his best friend, no matter that it was sort of an unspoken thing. He wouldn't possibly leave him alone again, would he? Sherlock was the only thing keeping John sane. Without him, he would still be living alone, the images of the war flashing through his mind every night, dying from complete boredom by day.

He didn't say another word to Donovan nor Anderson, instead walking straight out of the pub. John lifted his hand in a wave towards Lestrade, but that was it. He was going home to his odd roommate that was probably conducting a weird experiment that Mrs. Hudson was going to have to clean up later, much to her disgust. He was going home to someone that they just didn't understand, who wasn't so inhuman as they thought. Yeah, John would agree that Sherlock was an ass. He would never deny that, but he also couldn't deny the fact that people needed Sherlock, and as much as the consulting detective would deny it, he needed people too. He needed John. He wouldn't just replace him.

The doctor hailed a taxi, not letting their words get into his head. John watched as the city lights whirred by through the window. He thought about Sherlock's face when he'd seen that woman, how he'd actually hugged her back, albeit a bit reluctantly. He felt like he had gotten a lot of answers about the mysterious girl, but he still knew nothing about the other man she was with, and felt like the more answers he had gotten, the more questions popped up. It was times like this that he wished he could think like Sherlock, where he could just observe and know absolutely everything about the situation.

When he reached 221B Baker Street, John had been so close to giving up on his investigation, thinking that he was never going to figure it out. Whoever this Amy Pond was, she was definitely a mystery and John didn't know if he'd be able to uncover it all. He walked up the steps, waving to Mrs. Hudson on his way up and went to reach into his pocket for his key when he saw that the door was already unlocked. He didn't think much on it, knowing that Sherlock was fully capable of defending for himself if a robber or something came by. He'd honestly dealt with shadier characters before and won easily despite his lanky frame.

What he wasn't even thinking he would see was exactly what confronted him, though as John walked into the door. His eyes met hazel-y green as the woman let out a short gasp of surprise, before he looked over and saw his best friend, who was playing with his hair. He usually only did that when he was frustrated, but Sherlock's face seemed perfectly at ease… Actually, it almost seemed _too _composed. Sherlock spoke and John looked back over at Amy, who still looked a tad bit awkward. He couldn't help but feel like he'd interrupted something, the tension in the air still evident. But… No, not Sherlock. He didn't do those kinds of things.

"I can see who came to visit," John said, then smiled over at Amy, "It's nice to see you again, Amy." Even though he'd spent the whole night feeling a tad bit worried that she was going to replace him, John decided to be nice. He was never one to be nasty to someone unless they had deserved it, anyways, and he was determined not to let Anderson and Donovan get to him.

Amy gave a nervous smile back. "Hey, John."

Silence hung in the air and the three stood there quite awkwardly. John looked between the two and his eyes narrowed. Sherlock seemed to notice this and cleared his throat. "Why don't I go get Mrs. Hudson to make something to eat?" he asked, knowing that the landlady would probably resist at first, claiming that she wasn't his housekeeper, but she always gave in. Always.

"Since when do you eat?" John asked, looking at his friend oddly, "What's going on here?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to string out a convincing lie, but then they could feel the whoosh of air and a grating sound filled the room. And all of a sudden a blue box sat in the middle of their common room. "He's obviously got a talent for parking," Sherlock said sarcastically, though was quite glad that it blocked John's questioning gaze from him.

"Shut up," Amy sighed, knowing that Sherlock still wasn't warming up to the Doctor. She walked towards the door when the Time Lord's head popped out.

"Oh! Hello, Pond!" he smiled, fully stepping out and looking around at the room, then seeing John on one side of him and Sherlock on the other. "And we can't forget about Mr. Holmes are Dr. Watson, can we?" The Doctor wondered if this would ever get old. Then he reminded himself he wasn't going to stick around to find out. There was something odd going on around here and he hadn't figured it out yet.

"Doctor, you're here a bit early, aren't you?" his companion asked, her arms crossed and giving him a fierce glare. The Doctor couldn't help but notice the way her lips looked, a bit pinker than usual.

He cleared his throat and ignored it. "Well, I ended up finishing the repairs a bit early and got an idea!" he explained, "I did some research earlier, and there definitely _is _a planet where all the buildings are made completely of chocolate!"

The idea _did _sound appealing to Amy. She looked over at Sherlock and smiled. "What do you say, Sherly?" she asked, "Want to come along? John, you can come too, if you like."

"I don't think so," Sherlock said, "I prefer London." He'd said it once before. Her place was up in the stars, seeing new, impossible things and being chased down by aliens. His was in England, solving crimes and catching serial killers. He also just wanted to say it to piss her off, to show her that there was nothing spectacular about those stars of hers that her Raggedy Man carried her off to.

Amy seemed to sense this and her heart fell. She thought… Well, she thought that he would want to come. After that kiss, it didn't seem like things were going to go back to normal, but that was exactly what was happening right at that moment. Sherlock was retreating back to his sociopathic shell and Amy was left there standing like an idiot. She simply nodded. "Fine, then," she murmured, then turned to the Doctor, her voice stronger, "Let's go, Doctor."

Sherlock opened his mouth to ask when Amy was coming back, seeing she was clearly upset and not wanting this to be the last time. Something would always draw him into her, no matter how hard the consulting detective tried to deny that fact. But he didn't want to admit that he was even just the tiniest bit clingy, so he shut up.

"Nice seeing you, Amy," John said, feeling more exhausted than he should. He still didn't get how that box worked, and even though that chocolate planet sounded great and all, John was sure he would get a heart attack on the way there, just by the fact that he was time travelling.

"You too, John," Amy returned, giving him a small smile. And with that, her and the Time Lord piled into the box, closing the door and, moments later, vanishing, off to go find that planet with the chocolate architecture.

John was able to look at his friend and noticed the dejected look on his face. Sherlock looked from where the TARDIS had been standing and met John's eyes, realizing that he was being observed and quickly cleared his features. But John wasn't going to fall for any façade this time. "Care to tell me what the hell happened there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock replied stiffly, heading to his bedroom to think. It wasn't like he could sleep, no, not after that encounter. "I'll be in my room."

"Sherlock, will you just talk to-" John began. He wanted to know who this Amy girl was, what she meant to Sherlock, and what that other guy was. Why did Sherlock know every detail about John, but John didn't even know his mother's name? What kind of friends were they? He would ask Sherlock that, but he was afraid of the answer.

"There's nothing to talk about, John," the consulting detective interrupted sharply, "She's just a girl from my past. It's nothing." And with that, he shut the door and retired for the night.

John shook his head and went off towards his own room. "Doesn't seem like it's just bloody nothing." Next time, he was going to be there when Amy showed up. And he was going to get to the bottom of it. John swore he would. He couldn't be tossed out like yesterday's trash if this girl was starting to come back into his life. John couldn't go back to being alone and bored and having those nightmares, ones that left him drenched in sweat and twisted in his blankets. No, definitely not. John _wouldn't _go back to that.

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	13. It's Keeping Me Awake

**Hey, guys! Sorry I haven't updated in like... Over a month! I just kept writing this chapter and it was the reaction to the kiss and the Doctor and all that junk, and it just kept coming out as 11/Amy. xP So I had to rewrite and reconfigure a couple times. I promise ON MY LIFE that I won't give up on this story. So don't ever worry about that, okay? **

**Anyways, it's up now and yeah(: I'm going to have another one up soon, I hope. Christmas spirit and all that, so watch out for it. Let us recall that I own absolutely nothing and... That's it. I think. OH WAIT. Review to get a sneak peek of the chapter(: OKAY. NOW ENJOY.**

The Doctor wasn't too happy with Amy and it had been clear the moment that they had stepped back into the TARDIS that he'd known what she'd done. Still, it wasn't like he owned her or anything, so why did Amy feel so guilty? She felt like she'd almost betrayed someone, but she couldn't lay a finger on who or why. The Doctor and her were nothing. There was that kiss and everything, but it wasn't like she had tried it again. They were just friends now, just a Time Lord and his feisty companion. So… If it wasn't him, then who else?

She groaned in frustration and got up from her top bunk, marching to the console room. It had been a week since that kiss with Sherlock and she couldn't get it out of her mind, no matter how much confusion, happiness, and guilt came from it. Sometimes, Amy had thought that she'd imagined how good Sherlock had been inside that bar on his birthday, that she had just talked it up to herself because it was the fact that it was _Sherlock_. But with that last kiss in his living room, it was hard to deny. He was most definitely one of the best kissers she'd ever experienced. Hesitant, yes, but when he'd finally given in, it was a whole different kind of thing. He was passionate just like Amy, driven and bossy and Amy loved how even during something like that, it was still the two of them battling for control.

"Doctor, I was wondering," she said, sliding up next to him. The Doctor had been acting very fishy lately and she wasn't sure why. Amy had first thought it was jealousy, but like it was said before, she knew they were just friends now. "I'd like to stop in at London. Visit Sherlock."

He looked at her and gave a heavy sigh. "I really don't think that's a good idea, Pond" he said. There was a reason the Doctor wasn't telling her about Rory, though he had yet to truly acknowledge it. "He's dangerous, that Sherlock Holmes."

"Yeah, and so are you," she argued, "Now, come on, Raggedy Man, or I'll drive there myself."

"Amy, I am no taxi service, remember?" the Doctor replied, his voice getting a tad bit more irritated. He was in the middle of trying to figure out what was behind the cracks in the universe, what the 26th of June, 2010 really meant for Amy, and why the hell her house had so many rooms. Not to mention, the TARDIS was acting up. He really didn't need to be reminded of the great literary character that seemed to have found himself two hundred years in his future and in the real world, Amy's world.

"I never said you were!" Amy defended, not liking when the Doctor got cross with her. She was still a little bit in awe of this ridiculous man and she hated disappointing him or making him displeased. Still, she was Amelia Jessica Pond, and she wasn't going to sit down and behave for just _anyone_, not even the last of the Time Lords. "But we're not doing anything anyways. You've locked yourself up in the library for the last two days. I'm going to die of boredom!"

"Better than dying from radiation. Or an overdose on time energy," the Doctor retorted, beginning to sort of mutter and babble as he got lost back into the book that he had been reading on the skin of the universe. He was sure he could find something in here. "Or getting shot by aliens. Or…"

"Okay, I get the picture," she sighed, putting her hand on her hip. Amy grabbed the book from the Doctor's hands, not caring about the title at that point. She assumed it was something stupid, like a planet where bow ties were actually considered cool in the future. "Please, Doctor. I need to see him."

She didn't care that she had been fighting with him a little bit towards the end of her visit. After that time that Amy had stopped talking to him for two years, she had decided that she was going to hold onto that consulting detective a bit tighter. The Doctor gave her a withering look, and Amy replied with a cute pout. He sighed. "Fine, alright!" he said, closing the book and tossing it onto one of the lounge chairs. "But we're not staying long!"

* * *

><p>had just come up with tea, heading immediately downstairs, though she didn't explain what the rush was about. John watched her from over his newspaper, giving her a curious look as the older woman made her way down the stairs. Sherlock knew the reason. It was pretty clear from the new shade of lipstick that she was trying out, the fact that Mrs. Hudson was wearing an increased amount of perfume. Sherlock took a small sip from his tea cup and set it back down on his small plate as his fingers continued to type out text messages on his phone at a pace that most people would deem impossible. John was used to it, though.<p>

"Trying to convince Lestrade to let you onto that next case?" John asked, moving his eyes back to his roommate. It'd been three weeks since Amy's last visit and it had just seemed like an unspoken rule since that night that he'd walked in on _something_, that it wasn't supposed to be mentioned again.

"Those incompetent fools are never going to figure it out," Sherlock sighed, hitting the 'Send' button and looking up at the blonde man across from him. He took another sip of tea just as John did. "Check page 4."

John flipped through the newspaper, seeing a bold title on the newest case. "May Street Killer Strikes Again; Five Dead." He didn't even have to read the article to find out about the case. Sherlock was doing was he always did. He was becoming obsessed with the case, talking about it for the last two weeks. It was different, though. He slept less, ate less. It wasn't like this was a huge case. Five murders was bad, but Sherlock had dealt with much more before, been faced with even bigger puzzles. John was sure that was because he was trying to keep his mind off Amy, to distract himself from her and the fact that it seemed like she wasn't coming back. He didn't talk about that, though. "Another dead? A man again?" he asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Obviously. You didn't expect him to change his pattern after four deaths, did you?" he asked, "And before you ask, no. There doesn't seem to be any other similarities. Five men, and Scotland Yard still hasn't managed to figure anything out. Idiots, I tell you. They're calling in two suspects, but I've already researched the two. Past criminals with violence crimes. Very predictable. Very _boring_."

"Not everything has an interesting answer, Sherlock," John reasoned, "It could be possible that these are just random killings. They're all killed on the same exact street. It's probably just a thug."

"If it was a thug, we would have seen more struggle at the actual crime scene. There's none at all. No blood, no brain matter. Nothing." Sherlock didn't exactly know the answer yet, but he knew that these murders weren't random. They all had a connection. They just _had_ to.

"Sherlock, I think that you might just need-"

Before John could finish his sentence, both the men could feel an unusually strong breeze in the room. John's paper flapped and hit his face, Sherlock jumping to grab onto his fluttering files that would create an impossible mess if they fell and scattered on the floor. "What the bloody hell is going on?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't even have to answer him. A loud, screeching noise filled the air and there seemed to be a light about seven feet up in the air that started to flash. They watched as a familiar shade of blue faded in and out, both realizing what was happening. The Doctor was here. _Amy_ was here. The wind stopped and the two men were able to relax for a second as the TARDIS officially landed with a resounding thud. The door creaked open, revealing an orange-ish light and an excited Amy Pond hopping out of the box.

"Hello, boys," she said with a grin.

The man with the dark curls stood up and straightened himself out, clearing his throat. "How kind of you to drop by, Amelia," he replied, though it was clear that he was about to make some sarcastic remark, "I see you've decided to skip the part where you _knock_."

Amy rolled her eyes and walked out fully into the room. The Doctor followed quickly after her, shutting the door and leaning against the side. "Right, sorry about that," he began.

"Seeing as you took forever to answer the door last time," Amy interrupted, "I thought I might skip that bit."

John looked at the Doctor and Amy. He still had no idea what they were, how that box worked. It seemed really strange to him and Sherlock hadn't really ever explained it to him. "Hello," he said, "Don't mind Sherlock. He's just a bit upset."

"Isn't he usually?" she teased. Sherlock ignored her and pretended to be texting someone on his phone. He remembered how it had felt to kiss Amy and he most certainly didn't want it to happen again. The fact that he'd felt something, especially that strongly, scared the living hell out of him.

"Lestrade's refusing to let him on a case," John explained, "You two can sit down, you know. There's some tea in the kitchen, too. Mrs. Hudson just made it."

"Oh, no," the Doctor groaned, not thinking, but moving towards the kitchen and pouring himself a cup of tea. "There's a Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, too? Don't tell me you've got Ms. Adler hiding around here somewhere."

"Adler?" Sherlock asked, "I don't know a Ms. Adler. And I would remember, trust me."

"Oh, I do," the Doctor replied cryptically and smiling. The three humans gave him a puzzled look. Amy was kind of used to it, him being a complete madman, but she had no idea what he was talking about now and she was about to ask him what he was talking about when something else grabbed her attention.

"Wait," she said, "So, you're working on a case?"

"No," Sherlock answered, "You obviously weren't listening. Lestrade isn't taking my input at all."

"Maybe if you bullied him and his team a bit less?" Amy suggested as the Doctor moved next to her and handed her her own cup of tea. She shared a glance with Sherlock, noticing the quick quirk of his lip. She grinned back, knowing he wasn't actually as irritated by her as he pretended to be. "You talking to him now?"

"He's ignoring me right now," Sherlock said, looking down at his phone for a moment. Lestrade had just sent him a message saying that he would talk to Sherlock when he believed they would need his aid. The consulting detective knew that that was not going to happen. His team was far too stubborn to agree with their boss and let Sherlock come and do the job that they were far too stupid to do themselves.

"Here, let me see that," she said, going over to Sherlock. He looked back up at her and they both could feel the electricity between them as their bodies moved closer. Sherlock could feel the urge to touch her, so strong even with John and the Doctor in the room. Amy could feel it too, that strong want to drop her tea on the floor, grab Sherlock's face, and bring it to hers. The Doctor seemed to sense something, knowing that look from the night in Amy's bedroom and cleared his throat. They'd only been staring at each other for just a few moments, but he knew it would have turned into something more awkward.

They both blinked and looked at each other, seeming a bit disoriented. Amy used the advantage to grab Sherlock's phone out of his hands and set down her tea next to his. "Amelia! No!" he cried, "Give it back!"

"Just like old times, eh, Sherly?" Amy teased, "Except, you know… Less Chemistry book, more mobile telephone." She walked away from him, fast enough to be just out of reach and located Lestrade in his contact list quickly. She hit the 'Call' button and listened to dial tone.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Getting you that case, Stupid," she replied, like it was the most obvious thing on the planet. She threw a smile in. "Greg's always liked me best, anyways." Sherlock didn't have the chance to ask who the hell Greg was, Lestrade already picking up the phone.

"Sherlock, I told you-" he started.

"Oi, you," Amy interrupted, "We both know you need Sherlock on the case. So, why don't you just ignore everyone else and make the right call." Sherlock and John both smirked. Though John hardly knew her and felt a tad bit threatened by the feeling that this girl could very well replace him, he had to admit that she had an attitude that got stuff done. It wasn't like with Sherlock, where he was completely stubborn, impossible to work with and insistent that he was always right. Even if he was. The Doctor could feel himself smile as well and grabbed the paper that John had set down. It was still on page 4 and he began to read the article, drinking his tea all the while. He was pretty used to Amy's nature and was just going to let her do what she did best: argue.

"Who the hell is this?" Lestrade responded. Amy put him on speaker phone.

"Oh, Lestrade," she said in a mock sad voice and making her Scottish accent just a tad bit thicker. "How could you possibly forget me?"

"Wait," he replied slowly, recognizing the accent and the voice, not to mention the speaker's attitude, "Is this-?"  
>"The one and only," Amy smirked, "Now, I'd love to chit-chat, but Sherly has his grumpy face, the one he makes when he doesn't get what he wants, and it's really spoiling my visit."<p>

"Oh, Amy," Lestrade laughed. He really had always liked her, and it wasn't just because of those short skirts she always wore, "I've really missed you, but I really mean it. I think it's best if Holmes stays off the case. He needs a break anyways."

"He doesn't take breaks. Now, come on. You put him on and you'll have this solved before the killer or whatever can even get his hands on the next victim. You keep playing hard to get… Well, we might have another death on our hands."

Amy could hear Lestrade sigh over the phone and both her and Sherlock knew that she was going to win this for him. He crossed his arms, deciding that he most definitely wasn't going to admit that it was all her that had gotten him the case when she succeeded. "Fine. I'll let John and Sherlock on the case," the head detective said, resigned, but then it got stronger, "But only on one condition."

"Condition?" John mouthed, meeting Sherlock's confused look. The Doctor's brow furrowed as he continued reading the article.

"And what's that?" Amy asked.

"I want you on the case, too."

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	14. Things Are Shaping Up to Be Pretty Odd

**Hi, guys! I really meant to publish this on Christmas, but I didn't have a chance because... Well... It's Christmas and, according to my Mother Dearest, it is a day dedicated to family, not internet friends. So... Let's just blame her(: ANYWAYS. **

**MERRY BELATED CHRISTMAS! Hope you accept this gift. I believe we were just getting to a mystery-solving chapter? Mwhaha. BEFORE we get the totally awesome detective!Amy back, there was something that I wanted to write SUPER DUPER BAD. So... I did that first(: But I already have the next chapter a'cookin,' so you're not going to have THAT long of a wait! **

**Remember that I give out sneak peeks to those who review and... There's something else, and it's not the "ENJOY" bit... See what happens when they take you out of school for two weeks? You think less and then THIS happens... Oh wait. Disclaimer(: I OWN NOTHING. NOW HERE'S THE "ENJOY" BIT. ENJOYYY!**

"Absolutely not," the Doctor said as soon as he heard Lestrade. He stood up. "I mean it, Amelia. We're not chasing after some serial killer."

She looked at him, pursing her lips and contemplating what to say to her friend. Amy didn't take her eyes off him as she gave her response to Lestrade. "Deal," she replied, "We'll be there." Then she clicked the 'End Call' button and handed it back to Sherlock.

The Doctor sighed, irritated. "Amy-"

"Okay," she interrupted, going on like the Doctor had never said anything, "So, what's this case about, then?" Amy looked at John and Sherlock, waiting for an answer. John just glanced between her and the Doctor, unsure of what to say. It was clear that the Time Lord was displeased and he didn't want to cause any further conflict. Of course, Sherlock could care less.

"Five deaths, the newest one being last night," he said, "They're all men, ages ranging from 25 to 43. The police have absolutely no leads and the only thing they've done with the case is dub whoever it is as 'the May Street Killer,' which isn't really creative seeing as it comes from the fact that all the bodies have been found on May Street." The consulting detective wouldn't admit it, but he was realizing that he missed this, solving crimes with Amy. There was something different with her than there was with John. John just got dragged into it by Sherlock, but Amy ran to it. She had the same hunger for the adventure and excitement. Of course, like John, she cared more about the people involved than the solving of the puzzle.

"There's no connection?" she asked, crossing her arms and leaning on the arm of a couch. Amy wouldn't look over at the Doctor. She knew that he was glaring at her anyways and she didn't expect this fight to be over anytime soon. They did exactly what Sherlock and Amy did: struggle for power. The only thing was that there was a point with the Doctor, and Amy was always afraid to reach it. His attitude towards her on the Starship UK, when he had been angry with her for taking control of the situation and chosen to forget the information about the star whale, had frightened Amy. He wasn't _just _some ridiculous, bow tie-wearing alien. He could be so much more if he let himself, and she was glad he had the restraint that he did.

"Of course there's a connection," Sherlock replied, then smirked, "We just haven't found it yet. I'll go get my things. John, get ready. We're going to visit the crime scene."

"Amy, I want you to get back in that TARDIS," the Doctor said, moving into her line of vision as soon as Sherlock and John left the room. "We are not doing this."

She finally turned to him and gave him a fierce look, one that said Amy didn't want to back down on this. "And why not?" she asked, "Why is it fine that we chase aliens and save other species, but it's bad when I want to save my own in _my_ time?"

"Because I don't meddle in the affairs of others, Amy," he responded, "I may have a police box, but I am no police man. We travel, visit other planets-"

"And save people," Amy pointed out.

"No, we save worlds," the Doctor corrected. He was getting more and more cross as they stood there arguing. He didn't see why Amy couldn't just listen to him _once_. "They have this covered."

"They won't if Sherlock's not on the case," she argued, "And Lestrade won't let him unless I'm there. Doctor, they need him. They're just too proud to admit it to an arse like him." Amy had seen it before, when Sherlock used to get a lot of cases. He irritated a lot of people, but it wasn't as bad when she was there. At least he could keep it contained, only say it to her instead of out loud for everyone to hear. "They're not going to be able to figure it out and more people are going to die. Isn't that enough for us to stop and help?"

He didn't want to tell her why he really didn't want to be here. The Doctor was sure that hanging around Sherlock Holmes and John Watson would be dangerous. They weren't supposed to be here, after all. But Amy was right. The Doctor didn't know what to do, though. He never dealt with things like this. He dealt with aliens causing horror on humans, or the other way around, never humans killing other humans. There wasn't much of it left in this universe for the Time Lord, but this was definitely new territory for him.

Amy seemed to take his silence as an admission of her being right and smiled, then hopped over to the Doctor and threw her arms around his neck. "Come on, Raggedy Man," she said, and the Doctor rolled his eyes. She was playing the "I'm still the 7-year-old Amelia Pond who waited for you all night in her garden" card, which almost always seemed to work. "I can give you a deerhat and a smoking pipe, if you like."

The Doctor chuckled at first, his arms finally raising up to hug her. Then it dawned on him that Amy had just made a reference to Sherlock Holmes, and not the one that was just down the hall. Well, maybe. He had yet to see him in that classic hat. Then, she had to be remembering, yes? He didn't have time to question her when he heard someone clearing his throat. The pair both looked up and met icy blue eyes. It was Sherlock, who had just thrown on his coat. The Doctor pulled away as the detective walked over to his coat rack to grab his scarf. Amy smiled. She had seen that look in Sherlock's eyes and knew he was jealous.

"Here's the phone, Sherly," she said cheerfully, acting as if nothing had happened. Sherlock gave her a look, but he knew Amy could see right through him, so he just huffed and took the cell phone back.

They heard John's door creak open. He was still wearing his jumper, but had a thicker coat over it. He smiled at the pair, glad to see they hadn't run away. John didn't want to deal with a broken-hearted Sherlock all by himself. "Ready?" he asked, looking at the three.

Sherlock checked his pockets for his small magnifying glass and some of the other things he might need. He had always loved his coat. So many big pockets. Very useful, indeed. He looked up at John and nodded. "Now, let's go see if we can catch a cab," he sighed, stuffing his long, pale hands into his jacket and heading towards the door.

"You know, we have a time machine, right?" Amy asked, crossing her arms. When Sherlock and John looked back at her, they saw the redhead leaning against the blue box, the Doctor grinning from beside her. Then they turned and looked at each other. Sherlock had heard from Amy when she was little that it was bigger on the inside, but he didn't see how that was scientifically possible. John, meanwhile, hadn't heard anything, and didn't think he'd much enjoy being cramped in that small thing with so many people. Amy continued. "Oh, and it's _free_."

"I get to do the 'bigger on the inside' thing," the Doctor stage-whispered. It was his favorite part, after all, and the last few times hardly counted at all. There was Rory, who hadn't even reacted at all, except saying that he did some reading up on it on the internet, and then there was Ambrose's family when the Doctor had taken them out of the underground Silurian city. Even then, he was catering to Amy, who was an emotional mess and also confused on_ why_ she was such an emotional mess.

Amy rolled her eyes. "Fine!" she agreed, nodding.

John and Sherlock glanced at each other again. The shorter man was really starting to wonder how they were going to work together. He felt like he was going to go crazy. Sherlock just wanted to know what they were muttering about. He was used to the madness that _was_ Amelia Pond. He met her look, watching as she cocked her eyebrows, daring him to come along and be invited into this world of hers and the Doctor's.

He was the one that took the hesitant first step and walked towards the door. The Doctor snapped his fingers as he walked by. He looked at the Time Lord oddly, then back at Amy. "Scared, Holmes?"

"You wish, Amelia," he quipped back, and entered the orange glow of the TARDIS. Sherlock's eyes widened as he took everything in. He heard Amy giggling behind him, her and the Doctor walking in behind him as Sherlock walked further towards the console.

"So, what do you think, Sherly?" the redhead asked, folding her hands behind her and skipping in front of them. The Doctor grinned and walked after her, going up to the console and starting to enter the coordinates.

"Trust me," the Doctor said, looking over, "We've heard it all."

"It's… It's… -" This was one of the few times that Sherlock found himself speechless, but thankfully, someone else saved him from it.

"Oh my-!" John exclaimed, who had finally gotten a grip on the situation and entered the box. While Sherlock's head was darting around trying to observed every little thing and find a scientific reason to all of it, John's eyes were wide open, along with his mouth. "Blimey! It's bigger on the inside!"

The Doctor winced. "Y'know, I never thought I'd get Sherlock Holmes and John Watson in my TARDIS, but I'm sure if I _had _imagined it, I would have thought you'd have been a _tiny_ bit more creative."

Amy laughed and crossed her arms, used to the odd way the Doctor talked and not noticing it again. Sherlock questioned it silently, but they were mostly overwhelmed by their surroundings. "Welcome to the TARDIS, boys," she said with a smirk, "Now, don't worry. The Doctor'll explain everything."

"Yes! This is my favorite bit!" he said excitedly, clapping his hands and jumping down the steps towards the two newcomers.

"Just make it fast!" Amy cried, "We've got a murder to solve!"

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	15. You Can't Blame Me For Hating It

**Hey, guys! Here's the next chapter(: I know the last one was short, but I wanted the little TARDIS scene. I promise we're going to see some deducing now! **

**Remember to review to get a sneak peek! Also, little fun fact of the day: I don't any part of this story! Thanks so much for reading along and I hope you guys like it! Enjoy!(: **

The Doctor was getting very irritated. That tended to happen when he was bored, which was exactly how he was feeling at that precise moment. Him and Amy watched with bored expressions as Sherlock left the TARDIS again to check the measurements of the blue box, still convinced that this was not real at all, that there must be some trick to it. John, meanwhile, was standing beside them, still gaping in awe.

"I always wondered how you could both travel around in a telephone box," John said softly. He looked down at the buttons, but didn't dare touch any of them, sure he would make something explode, and sat down on one of the lounge chairs around the console.

Sherlock came back in, his brow furrowed in concentration. He didn't understand, but he didn't want to admit that. There had to be _some _sort of explanation. He closed the door behind him and walked up to Amy and the Doctor, still looking around, observing everything, trying to find a hint. But this place was just complete madness. _This _was the box that Amy had always drawn when she was little. There was something in him that felt very sad, but he couldn't pinpoint it, and, like with all things emotional, Sherlock decided delving further into it was just a waste of time.

"Explain this to me," he said, looking at the Time Lord.

"Sorry, but we like to operate on 'please's here, Mr. Holmes," the Doctor replied, leaning against the console on one of his elbows and fiddling with a control that he still hadn't found the function of.

Amy frowned. "Do we actually ever say please?" she asked, starting to think about it. Her and the Doctor were a bit more blunt when they wanted something. They also happened to be great liars.

The Doctor shrugged. "Not really, but I thought I might try it." He looked back at Sherlock and saw that the consulting detective was still watching him. He sighed. "Alright. I'll try to keep this as simple as I can, since we've already wasted so much time. Don't want to get into the deeper, more timey-wimey dynamics. Now, as for the 'bigger on the inside' thing, it's basically like another dimension-"

"Another dimension?" Sherlock asked. He was never good with this space stuff.

"Yes, keep up, will you?" the Doctor continued, giving Sherlock the same judgmental look he usually gave someone who he deemed an idiot, "Honestly, if Rory could keep up-"

"Rory?" Amy asked. Her eyes started to glisten and she could feel her eyes start to tear up, though she wasn't sure why. Her heart ached and she felt very sad all of a sudden.

The Doctor's irritated frown grew worried, quickly moving over to the controls to create a distraction. "You know, maybe we can do that explaining bit later. Didn't Amy say we had a murder to solve?"

* * *

><p>"Amy!" Lestrade called, smiling wide as he took in the redhead. He had missed her, though everyone on the force knew that bringing her up around Sherlock was always a bad idea. He still was never sure what happened, why she'd stopped investigating with Holmes. Lestrade could easily blame it on the fact that it was hard to stick around someone like Sherlock Holmes, but her and John were the only two that never seemed completely bothered by his blunt, arrogant manner.<p>

"Lestrade!" she grinned, giving the lead detective a big hug, then brought over the Doctor, "This is my… Friend."

"I can't believe there's a Lestrade, too!" the Doctor cried gleefully.

"What?" Lestrade asked, a little confused.

"Never mind that!" the Doctor smiled, waving off his previous comment, "I'm the Doctor, here to help!"

"The Doctor? Doctor _who_?"

"_Great_ question Greg, but hardly the time! Now, what's this I hear about a _murder_?"

Sherlock frowned. Who was Greg? He didn't have any time to focus on that though. Now that they were through the TARDIS explanations and onto the crime scene, the man finally felt like he was back in his element, where no one, even the Doctor, could show him up. He was excited about this case. Lestrade was finally letting him onto the case. It didn't matter that he needed Amy to get on it. He wouldn't admit that he needed anyone but himself, not even in his own head.

He looked around him, analyzing the new crime scene. The yellow tape took up the majority of the sidewalk, going out into the road. The body was on the ground, someone already tracing chalk around him as they set up to take the newest victim to the morgue. Sherlock would have to talk to Molly about getting a closer look. He walked slowly around, John following him with his hands tucked in his pockets. John knew that Sherlock couldn't be bothered at that moment, but he was still feeling a little weird around Amy and the Doctor. His head was still trying to wrap around the "all of time and space" thing.

"What do you think?" John asked, loving the bit of normalcy.

"There isn't going to be a lot of evidence at the scene," Sherlock stated, "The only thing that puzzles me is how on Earth they managed to do this in the alley right next to the entrance. Someone would have seen, surely."

He felt John move away, but Sherlock didn't really care about where he was going at that point. He moved next to the body, taking out his small magnifying glass. Sherlock knelt next to the victim, moving the glass over his face. It was a redder color around his mouth. He took a note of it, then moved onto the rest of the body. Sherlock took care to notice everything, every centimeter of the victims skin, his nails, hands, state of clothes. Everything mattered, every last detail.

The consulting detective stood back up and walked over to the Doctor and Amy, who was still catching up with Lestrade. They both laughed at something that the detective inspector had said, when he cleared his throat and the three looked over. "Got anything, Holmes?" asked.

"They were willing," he replied, folding his hands together behind his back.

"What, willing to die?" Amy asked. She crossed her arms and frowned.

"Don't be stupid. Of course not," Sherlock retorted, ignoring the glare she gave him, one that said he better watch himself. It wasn't like Sherlock was going to listen to it anyways. "No one's willing to _die._ The victim here wasn't forced back here. There's no sign of a struggle on him, no bloody knuckles from a fight, or dirt in his nails. They aren't just getting dragged into a dark alley. They're being _lured _back here."

Sherlock watched everyone's pleased looks. The only person not looking his way was the Doctor, who stared past him at the man on the ground, his green eyes softening. The consulting detective ignored this. He would be amazed soon enough, because he wasn't even done. He was just about to launch back into his observations when Lestrade spoke up. "We didn't think there was a struggle either, actually. Is that all you have, Holmes?" he asked, "Because what I really need from you is to tell me _who _it is that's luring these men back here."

The consulting detective opened his mouth, but someone else stole the words right out of his mouth. "A woman," the Doctor said, his eyes still on the victim. The Time Lord didn't like this. He didn't like being here and he wished that Amy would just come back with him in the TARDIS and let him take her to Space Florida like he'd promised. He could feel everyone's stares and looked up. Amy gave a satisfied smile, thinking she finally had him hooked on this mystery. Lestrade and John looked interested in what he had to say, a little shocked. Sherlock looked more than irritated that someone was trying to steal the show. "Oh, well," he continued, clearing his throat, "Pretty clear what he was doing back here. Look at his rumpled clothing. And see?" The Doctor moved over to the man and pointed towards his discolored mouth. "Smeared lipstick."

"Poor fella," Amy frowned sympathetically, "Just wanted a quick, drunken snog in an alley."

The Doctor smiled over at Amy. Everyone else still seemed a bit grim. It reminded him how much he was affecting her already, like when they'd gotten so excited about those vampires being space fish. Rory never _did_ find that very humorous. He stood up and looked down at the body. "Whoever this is, she's a woman," he said, reaching down and taking his sonic out and scanning the body.

"What's that?" Lestrade asked.

"Don't ask," John muttered. He was starting to get used to the Doctor and all his surprises. He had an idea that the big tool with the green-lit tip was just like the TARDIS, much more than what it seemed. "You won't get it."

Sherlock looked at Amy, who seemed more fascinated with what the Doctor was doing now and felt jealousy surge through him. This was stupid, feeling things. Especially where _she _was concerned. He got jealous around John's girlfriends too, not liking that his assistant wasn't on his beck-and-call. With Amy, it felt ten times worse and Sherlock absolutely loathed the man she was giving her attention to instead. "Seeing as this is the first time I've been let on the crime scene," Sherlock inserted a quick glare towards Lestrade, "We're going to have to get the rest of the files you have. I want _everything_. And take this body to Molly Hooper. We're going down there next to find the cause of death-"

"Don't need to!" the Doctor broke in, flicking his screwdriver up to his face, reading the medical scan results. His brow furrowed. Amy took a step closer to him. The ball at the bottom of Sherlock's stomach twisted. "Natural cause… He died of natural cause… It was like everything in him just _stopped_."

"What do you mean?" John looked down at the victim, tilting his head just slightly and then looked back at the Doctor with a confused expression. He had been taking the back burner in this case, but that was because he was fighting with three very strong personalities. Now John's medical prowess was coming in. Not that it really needed to. This just seemed like common sense. "He's no more than 35 years old, Doctor. It's not possible."

"That's what's worrying me," the Doctor sighed, closing his screwdriver.

Amy groaned. "It's an alien, isn't it?" she whined. Could she bring this idiot _anywhere_ without other extraterrestrials trying to take over the planet?

The Doctor gave everyone a mischievous smile. _This_ was more of his thing. "Definitely alien."

"Wait, hold on," Lestrade interrupted, "Did you say 'aliens'? Amy, have you gone completely mad?"

"She's always been like that," Sherlock said.

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	16. Making the Most of the Dark

**Ha... Ha... Haaa... I guess now's about the time I should start begging for forgiveness, right? Okay. Here's the thing. I'M SORRY THAT IT TOOK FOREVER, BUT IT'S JUST LIKE... I GET DISTRACTED AND YEAH. IN FAIRNESS, THIS WAS DONE A WHILE AGO. I JUST KEPT FORGETTING TO PUT IT UP. **

**Alright(: I'm done yelling. Just forgive me, alright? Then we can move on to cooler things. Like... Reading this chapter! BUT FIRST.**

**Disclaimer time! :D Isn't it your favorite? So, in case you were under the impression that this teenage girl was really Steven Moffat/Mark Gatiss/Whoever else is involved with Doctor Who and Sherlock, then you were WRONG. Because I own nothing. :P Also. Review to get a sneak peek. Also. You get a conversation with me. I mean, not that cool, I know, BUT STILL. At least you'll know a little earlier than everyone else that I'm alive and just too lazy to update, right? **

**Okay. Done talking(: ENJOY.**

They went to visit Molly anyways. Sherlock insisted that they needed to see the other bodies and see how consistent they were with the newest victim. He walked in first, inhaling deeply and finding friendly familiarity at the odor of formaldehyde and the bright, white of the room. Molly always kept her lab clean and well-organized, which Sherlock loved having. It was so much easier to locate things.

"Sherlock!" Molly said, smiling. Sherlock gave her a small smile back, noticing that she was wearing lipstick again. He didn't comment on it this time, too busy with the case at hand. He had to prove himself after what had happened at the crime scene. He needed to show everyone that the Doctor was _not _a threat to his intellect.

"Hello, Molly," he replied, sliding his long hands along the white countertop as everyone else came in, "Lestrade has finally put me on the case."

"I heard," Molly said, giving a short laugh. She was so nervous around him. Amy seemed to notice that, watching the two closely. Not that there was any possibility of her getting _jealous. _"They faxed all the papers down here, and I've brought the other victims out for you. I'm not sure if we can let all these people back here, though…" She looked over at the man in the bow tie and the beautiful woman with the red hair.

"Right!" John moved to the side, motioning to the odd pair, "This is Amy Pond, an old friend of Sherlock's, and this is the Doctor."

"Doctor _who_?" Molly asked.

"Funny question," the Doctor said quickly, then pointed a finger in the air, "More importantly, who are _you_?" He didn't remember there ever being a Molly Hooper in the Sherlock Holmes books, and certainly it wouldn't make sense that she was a _woman_, not in the time era that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had wrote it anyways. Women still had a long way to go when he started Sherlock's adventures.

"Oh, I'm nobody," she replied meekly. She wasn't any famous or well-known doctor.

"I don't think so," he smiled, "Molly Hooper, was it? Molly, I've been around the whole universe and back. I've never met a single unimportant person. I _have, _on the other hand, met many important people who _think _they're unimportant."

She felt a deep blush creep over her cheeks. Molly laughed breathily. "I-Um, sorry," she stammered. She wasn't used to attractive men talking to her like this, Sherlock usually ignoring any sort of flirting Molly tried on him. Even with that bow tie of his, it was hard to deny that this Doctor character was good-looking. He wore such confidence on his shoulders as well. First, that boy named Jamie just a few days before, flirting with her. And now him. "I just… I didn't mean to pry or anything, but I really can't let you back there. It's for authorized personnel only."

The Doctor's smile grew slightly bigger and he reached into his coat, finding the familiar feel of the psychic paper. "I think you'll find all the proof that you need right here," he said, tone cocky.

Molly's eyes widened. No wonder why he probably tried to keep quiet about his name. "Does that say you're the queen's private physician?"

"I've got a lot of history with the Royal family, Molly," the Doctor answered, laughing privately to himself. Oh, Queen Bess… "Anyways! I need to go back there. To… Deduce and all that fancy stuff! I'm their second opinion."

Sherlock looked at the card and then back at Amy. "The card is blank," he murmured to her, leaning in.

"It's psychic paper," Amy whispered back, "Lets the person see whatever you want them to. You have no idea how many times that has saved us." She turned and stared at Sherlock curiously. "But you should see the card… I do. Why don't you?"

The two looked at each other, longer than they really should. Sherlock tried to stay focused on the serial killings, instead of running through his mind and finding every detail about that kiss with Amy the last time she had visited. _Work comes first. Work comes first. Work comes first_. Sherlock repeated the mantra over and over again, trying to drown out the flurry of thoughts all focused on the redhead staring straight at him. Meanwhile, Amy wondered if Sherlock would kiss her. Surely, not in front of all these people, but he still wanted it, didn't he? He had to. The time before was too good to completely give up. It couldn't just be her, could it?

"Amy?" the Doctor said, and the two looked quickly away, the moment broken. Amy blinked, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with more unexplainable guilt. "Do you mind if you stay out here with Molly?"

She felt herself nod, and the Doctor looked at her curiously, then to Sherlock, and finally back at her. He pursed his lips, but decided not to address it. "Great, then!" he replied excitedly, "You mind leading us in, Mr. Holmes?"

* * *

><p>John wanted out of that room. There was a tension between the Doctor and Sherlock that you could cut with a knife. He wasn't sure where it had sprouted from, though John was sure that his friend was probably feeling quite competitive with the Doctor his alien gadgets. He sighed, staying near the door with his arms crossed as the other two moved closer towards bodies that had been brought out.<p>

Sherlock took out his magnifying glass, his long fingers moving along the body, mapping it, as if he could find where all the secrets of the case were inside the dead man's pores. "There's no serious injury, no fresh wounds. I don't even see any _bruises_," he observed.

"Probably because he died of the same exact thing that the man in the alley did," the Doctor said, his arms folded behind his back as he circled around the dead human. He didn't like looking at all this. He would much rather be sun-bathing and feeling the warm automatic sand at Space Florida. The Doctor grabbed his sonic screwdriver out of his coat pocket when he stood in front of the man's feet. He aimed it at the body, turning the green tip on and running it up and down the corpse. The Doctor flicked it open, reading the medical scan carefully. "Yes, exactly," he reported, "Same. Natural causes."

"No, that's just not possible," Sherlock replied, looking at the Doctor skeptically, "Doctor, I've read the files. This man is only three years younger than our latest victim."

"Alien involvement, see?" the Doctor explained, looking over at Sherlock and then back at John and smiling, "'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,' isn't that right?"

The words sounded familiar to the consulting detective, and it took him just a moment to remember he had said that to Amy on the night that he left Leadworth when they were children. His eyes narrowed. "How do _you_-"

"Never mind that!" the Doctor smiled, not getting into the fact that it happened to be one of the consulting detective's most famous quotes, "What matters is that we have an alien on the loose, a murderous one at that."

"Are we seriously going with the alien angle?" John asked, finally piping up. He _really _wished he had stayed with Molly and Amy. These two alpha dogs fighting for control were too much for him.

"It's the only angle we have," the Time Lord shrugged, "Shall we go tell Amy?"

"I think you're wrong," Sherlock said. He didn't like that this man could just wave a wand in front of a dead body and think that he had all the answers. Especially not when it was the Doctor. "How are we supposed to know how reliable that little toy of yours is-"

"Oi, don't diss the sonic, mate," the Doctor interrupted, tisking.

"Besides, it doesn't tell us anything," he continued, "People would have noticed if a three-eyed, green monster was walking around and luring men into alleys, Doctor."

"Obviously a humanoid," the Doctor shrugged, "Or perhaps a perception filter."

"I want to understand," John sighed to himself, "But I know trying to keep up is only going to make my head hurt worse…"

The Doctor and Sherlock both gave him a sideways glance. The former showed a smirk, while the latter did his best to contain his. The Doctor cleared his throat. "Look. Sherlock," he said in a calm voice, taking a step towards him, "You have to trust me."

"And why is that?" Sherlock asked, taking a step towards the Doctor, but in more of a threatening fashion.

"Because I'm the Doctor." He gave a smile, and the two men stared at each other for a moment. "Now!" he continued, clapping his hands together, moving in the direction of John and the door, "Shall we go tell Amelia Pond the news?"

* * *

><p>"So," Amy sighed, feeling very bored indeed. She sat on a stool next to Molly, who seemed to keep her eyes on the door the whole time. "How do you know Sherlock?"<p>

Molly looked hesitantly over at the redhead next to her. She had so much life and color in her. Her bright, green eyes that were both curious and seductive at the same time, her bright red hair, even brighter with the contrast of the white room, and her confidence that came off her in waves made Molly seem even plainer in comparison. "Oh, I've helped him with cases before," she replied, "Not on the field, of course. Just in the labs. He comes here to examine the victims, or run experiments on the cadaviers we have."

"Experiments?" Amy asked, then stopped, "Wait, no. I probably don't want to know."

There was another moment of silence when Molly decided to try to keep it up. "And how do _you_ know him?" she asked, "If you don't mind, that is."

Amy smiled. "No, it's fine," she replied, "See, before he was the 'great consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes,' he used to babysit me."

Molly could feel a smile growing on her face as she tried to imagine Sherlock possibly taking care of a child. She had hardly ever seen him in a room with one, let alone known of him being alone in a room with a child. Though, Molly supposed she never saw him much outside the lab anyways. "I'm so sorry," she said, letting out a small laugh. Amy laughed along, though hers was louder, more infectious, and made Molly's increase in volume as well. "What was young Sherlock like?"

"The same as he is now, actually," Amy chuckled, "A stupid, stubborn arse. We used to argue all the time. Still do. I used to work on cases with him too. On the field."

The brunette gave a small frown before she remembered what Lestrade had told her all that time ago when she first started working with the Scotland Yard, and it was her first case with Sherlock. The detective inspector had warned her that Sherlock was a bit rough around the edges, and was in a particularly bad mood those days, since his partner had left him. He had said she was a woman, and Molly was guessing that this was her. No wonder Sherlock never gave her the time of day…

"And you two… You love each other, don't you?" she asked, then took in Amy's expression. It was a mixture of shock and embarrassment and Molly felt bad for being so blunt about it. "Sorry! I shouldn't have… How terribly stupid of me."

"Uh, no," Amy said, shaking her head, trying to play it off with a smile, "It's fine. I just… I didn't think it was that obvious. I mean, I'm not going to say we _love _each other… But there's… History." Simple as that. History. So why did she feel so bad about almost admitting that she had feelings for Sherlock? Amy hated all her confusing feelings she got from that stupid man with his dark curls and blue-green eyes that could never really make up their mind and choose one exact color.

"I can tell when Sherlock cares about someone," Molly said quietly, looking towards the room all the men were in, "There's a sort of determination in his eyes to keep them safe, and sometimes, he actually genuinely smiles. He doesn't show it when he knows someone's watching, but I've seen him do it with John, and you just today. Right when you say something clever and turn your head."

Amy felt a smile slowly grow on her features. She didn't really attempt to cover it up, seeing as Molly's eyes were still glued to the door. "But _you're _looking. I mean, you said he only does it when no one's watching him, yeah?"

Molly dragged her eyes away from the door to her fingers, twisting them nervously. "Sherlock doesn't really notice me," she muttered, beginning to play with the end of her hair. He hadn't said _anything _about the fact that she had parted it differently that day.

"Sherly notices _every_thing," Amy argued.

"Only the things that matter," Molly explained, still avoiding Amy's eyes. She didn't want to see the pity that was probably already in them. She could see it in John's sometimes, even Lestrade's in the few cases where he had accompanied Sherlock into her medical labs. They all knew she fancied the consulting detective, though he hardly gave her a second glance unless it was to ask about the case.

Amy frowned. She usually wasn't for the girls that felt sorry for themselves. After all, it wasn't like she hadn't survived a whole 14 years of mockery and alienation from her peers. It seemed that Molly was a little bit the same though. She had a feeling the mousy medical examiner didn't get out much. Her travels with the Doctor had softened her as well. Amy was about to speak words of comfort, how she didn't think that was necessarily true, when the Doctor stepped out of the room, Sherlock looking grumpy and confused, John experienced the latter.

Both the girls turned their attention to the trio. "So, what's the prognosis, Doctor?" Amy asked with a smirk.

"Definitely alien," he replied.

"Alien?" Molly asked.

"Don't ask," John groaned.

Amy smiled, putting a hip on her hand. "See? Glad we stayed now?" she asked, "Now, tell me you've got a plan, Doctor."

The Doctor returned Amy's smile. "No, but I'm sure I will by the time I stop talking!"

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	17. Get You Out of the Cage

**Ohmigawd, guys. Let's be proud. Because I'm updating at a decent time. WOOT WOOT.**

**Don't really have much to say other than... That... I'm sorry if a certain steamy-ish scene comes off horribly. A for effort? :) Also, just for a little future reference (because it sounds really weird when you get to it), Time Lord parts look like human parts. Boys still look like Time Boys, girls still look like Time Girls. JUST SAYING.**

**Now that that awkward health lesson is over, let's get back to our hearty tradition of disclaiming. Because these characters are definitely not mine. Ah, and let us not forget, dear people, that you get a review if you send in a sneak peek. It's jolly good fun for everyone! **

**Ugh. I really need to get out and socialize today.. I sound like a madwoman. ANYWAYS. ENJOY YOUR STORY WHILE I QUESTION MY SANITY(: **

Amy Pond did not like this plan at all. She knew it was hypocritical of her, seeing as how she would have suggested the same thing if it were the other way around, if it was a _woman _that this alien was looking for. Still, she really didn't think that sending her best friend in as bait was a very good idea.

"No!" Amy argued, "Doctor, you can't be serious!"

The Doctor looked at his companion, putting both hands on her shoulders and smiling at her. "Amy, it's the only way we can see what we're dealing with," he replied, then looked at John and Sherlock carefully. He couldn't let anything happen to the people here, not only because of Amy, but because he was dealing with two of the most famous crime solvers in Earth's history, fictional or not. "I won't let any of you get hurt. Got it?"

"Yeah, but this is _you_ we're talking about," the redhead sighed, rolling her eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he cried, defensively, dropping his arms.

"You wear a _bow tie, _you numpty!" Amy pointed out, "That doesn't exactly scream 'average bloke looking for a quick shag'!"

"_Bow ties are cool_!" the Doctor said, definitely offended now, "Besides, I don't remember you having any problem with my bow tie back in your bedroom!"

Sherlock was watching carefully of course, his blue-green eyes watching the Doctor and Amy closely. He saw her lightly freckled cheeks turn bright red, her green eyes looking down quickly before meeting the Doctor's again to glower, obviously unable to come up with a better response. He saw the Doctor's instant withdrawal, realization that he'd brought up a forbidden subject hitting him, and color crept up to the Time Lord's cheeks as well. And then, well, what was said… Sherlock was never very good when it came to the sexual things… But even _he _could make a guess at what they were talking about. And he was jealous. The consulting detective's hands curled up into fists. He wished he still had that riding crop from Molly, just so he could thwack the Doctor until he vented all his anger out on the alien.

John seemed to sense his friend's change in attitude, and touched one hand to the dark sleeve of Sherlock's jacket. He decided it was time to break up the fight and get a move on. "Come on, you two," John said with the most paternal voice he could muster. He really felt like he was taking care of three children right now, three children that never seemed to stop fighting with one another. "Amy, the Doctor seems set in going, and Lestrade already promised that there's going to be back-up covering the whole street."

Amy shook her head. "John, you don't understand," she said, "Some of the stuff I've seen… I mean, no offense to Lestrade and his men, but there's really scary things out there." She thought of the Silurians hiding under the earth at that very moment, Smilers with their turning faces, and, of course, the Weeping Angels, beautiful but so deadly.

"I'll be okay, Pond," the Doctor smiled reassuringly, "I'm the king of okay." Upon realizing what he'd just said, the Time Lord grimaced. "Okay, forget that. That's a rubbish title."

She didn't say anything, just looked at the Doctor. After a few moments, Amy seemed to finally give in, letting go of a breath no one had really noticed that she'd been holding in. She came over to the man in the tweed and hugged him tightly. "Just don't die, Stupid."

"Don't worry," he chuckled, hugging her back, "Still got a few regenerations in me, if something goes wrong."

"We should be going," Sherlock said curtly, still staring at the two and their closeness. He didn't like it.

"Right," John agreed, as the Doctor and Amy let go. There seemed to be an easier vibe between the group now. Minus the black mood coming off Sherlock in waves. "It's getting darker out. So, Doctor. Ready for a night out?"

* * *

><p>They had been staked around <em>Ted's Pub<em> for an hour or so. Amy sat next to Sherlock in the car across the street. John and Lestrade were in another, along with two other undercover police cars. They weren't taking any chances, not wanting to have to deal with another victim. It was dark, the streetlights and business signs the only things to keep them out of the dark. The streets were starting to become emptier, the night crowd either having already found their bar of choice for the night, or drunkenly finding their ways home, hailing cabs or stumbling down the sidewalk.

Amy shivered inside the car. "Turn on the car for a second, will you, Sherly?" she muttered, rubbing her hands together to create heat from the friction," I'm _freezing_."

Sherlock didn't even look at her, his eyes trained on the building. Amy watched him, waiting for him to respond, but after fifteen seconds or so, she got impatient. "Oi, Stupid!" Amy said louder, "Can you turn on-"

"What did he mean earlier?" Sherlock suddenly asked, turning his head quickly to meet hers, "About the bedroom?"

Heat flushed back into Amy's cheeks. She wondered if he could tell in the darkness. "I-Nothing," she lied.

"Funny," he said in a quiet voice.

"What is?" she asked.

"You've never actually lied to me before."

Sherlock was right. Amy knew it. He always was, and she hated admitting it. She let out a slow breath. It wasn't like she was _trying _to keep what had happened away from him. It's just that the memory seemed so odd to her. Amy remembered what happened after she had kissed the Doctor. Of course, she'd felt embarrassed when he rejected her. That also made her a little thankful. It also made her feel… _Guilty_. And Amy couldn't remember why that was. It couldn't be Sherlock, could it?

"Fine," she replied, looking down at her fingers as they twisted together, "I kind of… Kissed him." And by the way the Doctor kept glancing at her the rest of the night, Amy assumed she'd done a hell of a job.

"You _kissed _him?" Of course she had. Why was Sherlock surprised? He should have known before. Of course Amy would be romantically attracted to the Doctor. She had been _obsessed _when they were kids. The Doctor seemed to have been the only thing that had mattered to her back then. What would have made it change since then?

"It's not a big deal," Amy groaned, looking away and resting her head in her hand, her elbow against the car door. She really didn't want to talk about this, not with _him. _Because things between them were already complicated enough, and being stuck in a car during a stake-out mission with _this _little piece of information wasn't helping.

"Did he kiss you back?" Sherlock wanted to know every detail, but none at the exact time. He wanted to know just how much the Doctor had Amy wrapped around his finger.

Amy didn't answer. He had, for the briefest of moments. But something had stopped the Doctor, something about the next morning and it all being about her or something like that. Honestly, Amy hadn't cared enough to take note of his dumb reasons at the time. She had just wanted a little fun for the night. "Does it matter?" she asked, wishing Sherlock would just drop it.

Sherlock chuckled humorlessly, looking back out the window. "Of course."

She finally looked back up at the man beside her, frowning. "'Of course' what?" she asked. But Sherlock didn't answer. Suddenly, Amy's eyes widened, her face relaxing and her lips curving into a smile. "Wait, are you jealous?"

His jaw clenched. "I don't feel your silly, useless emotions, remember?" Sherlock reminded her, "Jealousy included, Amelia."

"Really?" Amy teased, "Because it seems like you're _jealous_, Sherly."

"I am _not_ jealous," he snapped, "Especially not of _him_. I don't know how you can handle being around a complete idiot. "

"Had you for practice, didn't I?" Amy shot back. Sure, she insulted the Doctor all the time for his ridiculous hair and the bow tie and the way he acted like a gangly nine-year old. That didn't mean she was going to let anyone else do it, even Sherlock.

"Seeing as I've solved numerous cases for the Scotland Yard and saved dozens of lives, I'd have to beg to differ on that one, Amelia," Sherlock said, looking back out the window. He could see a pair of people just starting to walk out the door, a male and female, though he couldn't be sure of whether or not it was the Doctor. He'd have to keep an eye on them.

"Yeah?" Amy replied, smirking, the suddenly entertaining conversation making her forget how cold she'd been, "The Doctor's saved _planets_. _And _he has a time machine."

"I've got a John," Sherlock returned, finding some humor in the situation.

"He's got an Amy Pond. And, no offense to John or anything, but I look _ten _times more amazing than him in a mini skirt."

They both laughed at that, Sherlock's quiet and short, Amy's an almost obnoxious snicker. The consulting detective looked to his left and gave her a small smile, which only made hers grow. A smile at all from Sherlock was rare enough. It was rare for anyone besides John to see them anymore. They stared at each other for what seemed like minutes, but were really mere seconds. Their smiles slightly faded and Sherlock found his eyes drawn back to Amy's lips. He remembered how soft and warm they were against his and his breathing sped up as her tongue darted out nervously to lick the bottom one.

"I…" He searched for words to say. Sherlock couldn't do this. He wasn't supposed to. Work came first. Work came first. _Work came first_. He really _shouldn't _do this. Things with the redhead were already getting complicated enough. He felt angry and a bit afraid every time he even saw her looking at some other guy, let alone finding out that she actually _kissed _one. Amy was making him feel too much. He didn't like it at all. Yet, at the same time…

"You…?" Amy asked, her voice trailing off just like Sherlock's, her usual playful smirk on her face. She knew she was making him crazy. Surely, she did.

"I..." he tried again, "I-"

"Sherlock?"

It was John, his voice buzzing in through the walkie-talkie sitting in between Amy and Sherlock in one of the cup holders. The two didn't move for a second, both processing that they had stumbled upon another _moment_, and, again, they'd been interrupted. Sherlock's eyes didn't leave Amy's as he picked up the device and pressed the button on to talk into the device.

"Yes, John?"

"Was that the Doctor with that woman just now?" he asked.

Sherlock blinked, then looked back at the building. The couple that he had seen… He'd forgotten all about it. His eyes met Amy's, which were wide with fear. She snatched the walkie-talkie from him and spoke into it, her voice scared.

"Wait, are you saying the Doctor's with whatever that thing is?" she asked, "_Now_?"

"Amy, _you _two were supposed to warn us they were coming," John reminded her, "It was too dark to tell, and Lestrade didn't want to go and attack some random couple."

Amy squeezed her eyes shut. How could she let this happen? All the times the Doctor had gone in and saved her, and she couldn't even manage paying attention for an hour. "Tell me you know where he's at," she said finally, quiet and trying to stay controlled.

"Uh, well," John replied, his tone filled with uncertainty.

"Oh my God," Amy murmured, throwing it down and looking at Sherlock, "C'mon. We're walking it, Holmes. They don't call her the 'May Street Killer' for nothing, yeah?"

Sherlock did exactly as she told him. He wasn't used to driving around in actual cars, preferring the cabs, but he was way better than Amy, that was for sure. Still, he was better at walking, probably. He took off his seatbelt, getting out and onto the sidewalk, embracing the cold air. "They have to be close," he told her, "It's always somewhere close to the pub, somewhere dark."

"This isn't one of your serial killers, Sherlock," Amy sighed, crossing the street, "This is an _alien_."

"An alien with a pattern," Sherlock replied, then tossed the walkie –talkie to her, "Now, talk to John. Ask him which way they were headed."

They'd gone east of the bar, and their feet made a quick U-turn. Amy was assured by John that they were looking for the Doctor as well, but by car, along with the other two patrol cars. Surely, with this much coverage, they could find him, right? That's what she told herself, anyways. But Amy knew that something could go wrong, that it usually did where the Doctor was concerned.

They walked two whole blocks, and by "walked," it was more like "jogged" or "power-walked." The whole time, Amy frantically looked around, Sherlock keeping up, his face the perfect picture of calm, his eyes scanning everywhere. It was that very talent that made him catch it.

"Amelia, there," he said, grabbing her arm and forcing the redhead to a stop. He pointed towards an alley.

Amy peered at it, but she couldn't see a thing. It was way too dark, in between a pawn shop and a three-story apartment building. The nearest street lamp only showed the little bit of the entrance into there, blue dumpsters lit up on the outside edge, but that was it. "Are you sure?" she asked. Amy didn't want to waste time looking unless they were absolutely sure.

"Look at the sidewalk," Sherlock clarified, his finger pointing to the very clue that set him off.

Her eyes followed his index finger… And found a discarded bow tie on the ground. If that sacred article of clothing was on the sidewalk… Then it really _was _that bad. "Oh, no…" she gasped. The image of the body lying on the dirty ground suddenly flashed through her head. She couldn't let that happen to the Doctor. Not her Raggedy Man. "Doctor!" she screamed, suddenly running towards the dark alleyway.

"Amelia!" Sherlock shouted behind her, realizing what she was doing all too late. He had been speaking to John about their location, who had then replied that they were heading over there. Now, he dropped the walkie-talkie, trying to dive through the traffic after Amy."No!"

* * *

><p>The pub was not the kind of place the Doctor wanted to be. If he wasn't afraid of killing <em>the <em>Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, he might not have been so adamant about being the bait. The Doctor was never the bait. That was what his companions were for! He sighed, sipping from his curly straw. He'd been sitting there for a half an hour, listening to the sad, mopey music coming from the speakers that were hanging from the walls, and having to smell that gross, stale smell of beer wafting from every person's breath in that place.

For the majority of the night, the Doctor had talked up the bartender, but it was clear that he was getting annoyed with his pep. He also may have thought the Time Lord was gay. So, there he sat, just thinking about how he was going to pick the next _ten _places they visited, because Amy definitely owed him for this one. Maybe he should give her that "taxi service" speech he gave River.

"I'll have what he's having," a smooth voice said next to him. The Doctor looked up, mouth in an "O" with the colorful straw, the one that added more fizz, rested on one of the corners. He took in the brunette pulling a seat up next to him. She was wearing tight-fitting clothes, but it seemed to only be snug on the most alluring parts of her, making some things seem bigger than they were. The Doctor was still male, and he had a history of hanging out with attractive females. His eyes lingered, a smirk growing on his lips.

The girl's warm, brown eyes stayed on his green, never leaving them. Her own red lips were quirked up into a half-smile, one that seemed to hold all the secrets in the universe. The Doctor wondered how Amy would like it if he brought on a new companion to travel with them… Whoever this girl was, she seemed mysterious. And the Doctor always loved a mystery.

She used her peripheral vision to see the small glass that was put down beside her, and reached over, raising the small red straw to her mouth and taking a small sip. Her face seemed a little surprised when she first tasted it, looking down and frowning at her beverage. "Is this…"

"Cream soda," the Doctor finished, beaming. He waggled his fingers at her. "Hello, I'm the Doctor."

Now the girl seemed as curious as the Time Lord. She gave a small smile, holding out a dainty, lightly-tanned hand. Her nails were painted red to match her lips. "Julie," she replied.

The Doctor shook her hand warmly, and then, somehow, the time just seemed to fly by. Julie just had her 22nd birthday, was spending her time working as a waitress in one of the restaurants just down the street, or taking art classes. Of course, this just started a whole other conversation on their favorite artists. The Doctor made a mental note to make the Museum Dorse be on the list of one of his next stops after they were through here. He couldn't remember why he was still here, though, what his purpose was here at the bar. The only thing that seemed to be keeping the Time Lord there was Julie, the attractive brunette sitting in the seat beside him.

He also didn't know how the hell he had gotten outside. One minute they were in the warm, dimly-lit bar. Now, the Doctor found himself outside, cold everywhere except for where Julie's hands frantically moved about, trying to rid the Doctor of all his layers of clothing. He felt brick wall hit his head and back, Julie shoving him up against it. Was she kissing him? The Doctor couldn't tell. Maybe. That could be why his lips felt so warm… All that was happening just flitted by, and he was trying his hardest to grab onto what he could. Why was he kissing Julie? The Doctor didn't like kissing. Well, he did, but not exactly. He just didn't understand what the point was.

_Wait, wait… WAIT_! He wanted to tell Julie that, her hands moving down and pulling his shirt out of his trousers. The Doctor didn't do this. What was he doing? What was going on? Why couldn't he _stop_? He tried to focus on facts. His name. The Doctor. TARDIS. Amy. Amy… Sherlock. Wrong. Mystery. Murders. Allies… And then it dawned on him.

It was too late though. The Doctor knew this was exactly who they were looking for. His Time Lord mind was able to see much clearly than a human male, but whoever this was, she had a whole ton of pheromones coming off her. He wondered how attractive she _really _was. Now it could all just be his hormones being affected.

The Doctor gasped, Julie's hands rubbing the outside of his trousers, and quickly finding what she wanted. "M-maybe…" he managed, but it was hard to talk, hard to think or speak of anything that wasn't her. The Doctor blinked, swallowing and groaning as she increased the pace. He looked up at her face, her tongue wetting her lips, a hungry look on her face. He noticed her eyes.. They weren't dilated. And they really should be. "Maybe… We coul-d… Just go to… The m-movies?"

"Shut up," Julie growled. The Doctor kept looking at her. There was something else about her eyes. _Come on, _he thought to himself, _Stupid Doctor… Stupid, stupid Doctor. _Look!

They weren't brown. They were turning… _Purple. _And they looked more hungry than the rest of her, and not just for a "quick shag" in the alley. For something else… Just when the Doctor started the scan in his head, while also wishing that his body wasn't _responding _so well to this, Julie stopped. Her hand, which had now had his trousers completely unbuttoned and were sneaking into his pants, stopped, her eyes went back to normal, and the mysterious smirk turned into an upset frown.

"You're…" she murmured, looking up and down at the Doctor.

As she stopped, the effect she had on the Doctor stopped as well. Despite his half-dressed appearance… He found himself smiling. "Not what you were expecting?"

She took a step back from him. "You're not human!" Julie cried.

"Neither are you," the Doctor returned. She didn't deny it, just continued to gape at him. "That's right," he chuckled, buttoning up his trousers and his shirt, then said in a sing-song voice, "_I know who you are_!"

"Doctor! Are you there?" a voice shouted. Very familiar. Scottish. Oh, no. His eyes widened, and both his and Julie's head turned to look at the redhead bursting into the alleyway, a red bow tie in hand.

"Amy!" the Doctor yelled, his eyes going back to Julie's face. She was still looking at Amy, but there was that clever smile back on her face that could only possibly mean trouble. "Stay back!"

"Amelia! Wait!"

This called the Doctor to roll his eyes. Sherlock, too? This was just getting worse. He watched them take in his condition, the rawness of his lips, the untucked shirt, the tweed jacket on the ground beside him, and even messier style of hair, the pre-sex hair you only got from a heavy snog. Sherlock turned his head away, this obviously as awkward for him as it was for the Doctor. Amy's hand flew to cover her mouth, trying to keep the laughter from bursting out. She couldn't actually believe he'd… She didn't even want to finish that thought.

"Sherlock…" the Doctor said, ignoring the looks. He wanted them to see that what was going on was serious. "Take Amy, and get out of here. I can take care of this myself."

Sherlock was already starting to move and pull her arm. He wanted out of this situation as much as the Doctor wanted them away. When he tried to grab her though, Amy jerked her hand back. "Amelia?" he asked, puzzled. He looked at her, but she didn't seem to meet his gaze. She was staring at… Well, she was staring at Julie. "Amelia."

"Amy," the Doctor said in a firm voice. Julie must be trying to attract her with the pheromones, putting the same effect on her that she had just put on him. "Pond, snap out of it."

The redhead blinked, seeming to come back and looked at the Doctor slowly. "Sorry, what?"

"I said to stay back. Wait for me outside the alley, alright?" he asked, "I'm going to have a little talk with our friend here. She affects humans more strongly than Time Lords, and I don't think she can trick me now… "

She nodded dazedly. "Right, yeah. Okay."

Sherlock took Amy's arm again, and this time she followed. The Doctor turned back to Julie. "Alright," he sighed, "Now, I've always believed in secon-"

"Help me," Julie whimpered. The Doctor looked at the brunette. Something about her… Was different. She wasn't sparkling anymore. She looked afraid… She looked like she was in pain…

"Julie?" he asked hesitantly, not sure if she was playing a trick right now.

"Oh my God," she started to sob, falling to her knees to the filthy ground. One hand held her stomach, the other her head. "What did I… She made me… All those men… Oh my God, what did I do?"

"Julie, what are you-"

"It hurts! _Please!" _she screamed, tears of red blood coming down her eyes and staining her pretty face, "Help me!"

The Doctor fell down to her level, his hands fluttering over her body. She writhed uncontrollably, fully laying on the ground. He was starting to realize something. His eyes grew sad… He really wanted to be wrong… His hand reached for his sonic and scanned it over the crying girl. He flicked it up to his face. "You're human..." he whispered, as the body came to a stop, her brown eyes still wide open, and blood beginning to drip down from her ears and her mouth. He wanted to cry for this poor girl, this girl that had done nothing wrong, who he hadn't managed to save in time. But he couldn't. The Doctor was facing a bigger problem. "But then where did…"

"_Amelia_!" That was Sherlock's voice. The Doctor ran out just in time to see Sherlock trying to cross the road, two officers outside of the car, looking in the same direction as him. They were just as confused as he was on why the girl had just stolen a police vehicle. "Amelia, what are you-"

"Sherlock!" the Doctor interrupted, his voice shaky, as he reached the consulting detective and pulled him out of the road, "Don't bother."

"Doctor, she just got into a policeman's car!" Sherlock argued.

"No, you don't understand," the Doctor explained, looking down at the ground, before looking straight into Sherlock's eyes.

"What?" Sherlock asked, obviously getting irritated.

"It took over," he sighed, "The woman that just stole a police car? That's not Amy… That's the alien."

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	18. Forced to Deal With What I Feel

**Hey, guys! Sorry that I took so long with this, especially seeing as I kind of left it on a cliffhanger, haha. But no worries, this one is now out and I'm working on the next one! There was just a brief time where I was in a writing-fan-fiction funk. **

**I hope you guys really like this next chapter. Things get... Well, you'll see. ^_^ Anyways, remember that sending in a review gets you a sneak peek, but it has to be to the latest chapter. Say you do it on Chapter 15... I can't count it, because I don't really know if you're caught up and... Well, spoilers. :P So make sure you send the review to the latest chapter!(: **

**I think that's all for now... So, again, sorry for the really long break. I would say it's the last time that it's going to happen, but since it's my senior year of high school, and I have about a month until graduation... Things might get hectic. :P Anyways, enjoy!(: **

Sherlock was good with a lot of things. He was good at finding things, at seeing things that others didn't see, at catching serial killers. What he _wasn't _good at was anything alien. Sherlock barely knew how outer space worked, not thinking that it ever mattered. He certainly didn't know what to do now that his best friend, the only girl that had ever really mattered to him, had been taken over and possessed by an extraterrestrial. Sherlock needed an explanation, but that was something the Doctor wouldn't give him.

"No time! " the Time Lord said as Sherlock persisted in getting information, "All you need to know is that that is _not_ Amy."

Neither brought up what worried them both the most. It would seem as simple to anyone else that they just had to find Amy and lure the alien out, but this was different. A crime scene unit was already at the scene where Julie lay dead in an alley. Whatever had been in Julie, what was now in Amy, had the ability to kill their host. And that just added a whole new danger. The Doctor was too afraid to speak it aloud if Sherlock answered, but the consulting detective honestly felt the same, and was too scared to even ask.

Lestrade understood that they had their own mission. He knew that they still had to catch the murderer. But he also knew that the people wouldn't understand, and no way was he explaining this to the press. They'd just have to pin the murders on Julie. Still, the man really hoped that the three men could find her. He handed the keys to the Doctor as the two rushed out of the crime scene. "Here," Lestrade said, "Take the other squad car."

The Doctor smiled gratefully and nodded once. "Thank you, Detective Inspector."

He watched as they walked away, then called over, "Now, don't go and crash it, alright?"

John quickly took the keys from the Doctor. "I think it's best if I drive," he said, "Can't have you and Sherlock up in the front together. You'll do more fighting than searching."

The Doctor knew he was right, though he still rolled his eyes and nodded reluctantly. "Fine, I'll take the back," he replied in a defeated, but also whiny voice, one that made it seem like he was really putting up with a lot and that John should take note of it.

* * *

><p>Finding which way Amy went wasn't as hard as they'd thought. Sherlock realized all too late how simple it was. She was in a police car, and most were already at the crime scene, covering Julie's murder. There weren't going to be many more vehicles out here. Still, it was a good twenty minutes before they found the squad car parked outside a bar, this time not on May Street. The alien was breaking their pattern.<p>

"Sherlock," the Doctor said as they got out and headed towards the door. His tone was filled with worry and warning.

"We don't have time to chit-chat, Doctor," Sherlock replied instantly. He wanted Amy back, wanted her to be safe. He felt… Well, he felt guilt. Guilt for having her brought into this mess. Sherlock knew it was stupid and quickly dismissed it. He wasn't the one that had given the conditions. It was Lestrade. He wasn't the one that made her agree to do it. That was all Amy.

There was a part somewhere deep inside Sherlock Holmes that knew this was a selfish way of thinking, but it was also rational and realistic. And it was so easy to convince himself that he really thought this. As long as the guilt and all the painful feelings went away.

"I know, but before we go in there," he said, stopping at the door and looking at John and him, "You have to remember that she may _look _like Amy, but it is _not _her. She may try to trick you or manipulate-"

"For Christ's sake, just open the goddamn door," Sherlock said, moving and brushing past the Doctor.

"Wait!" John said, knowing that the Doctor was right. And if Amy was in there… She was probably with someone. He wasn't stupid. He knew that Sherlock would get upset, and that was exactly what they couldn't have happen. John knew that his partner was very good at what he did _because _he had little to no emotions. He didn't let anything get in the way or change the objective of the situation. This was a case where that might be impossible for the consulting detective, though. "Sherlock, you might want to-"

But it was too late.

Sherlock scanned the bar. It was dirtier than the last one they'd been in, and now he knew why the alien stayed on May Street. There were way less dingy bars here. "At least the thing had taste," he said dryly, knowing it wasn't the time to joke. His eyes searched for the familiar flash of red hair, but it wasn't there. There were fat, old men that sat at stools, whose wooden legs looked as though they were threatening to snap under the weight of the customers. There was the usual "stale beer and tobacco" smell that came with every pub, but this one also had its own sort of rotting odor, like a thick bed of black mold was just sitting there beneath the wood floors.

"Or _had,_" John added. He wanted to keep Sherlock's sarcasm up, keep him joking. He had to stay objective to this. It was the only way Sherlock could solve this, and John's main job, or at least it felt like this, was to make sure Sherlock got done what he needed to get done.

"She's not here," the Doctor murmured , his head darting around quickly, "But the car… Where could she be?"

"I don't see any signs of her, " Sherlock said.

John rolled his eyes. This was where he walked in. He strolled up to the bartender, a big, burly man with a large tattoo of a pin-up girl on his arm. "Excuse me," he said, John sounding meek at first, but then spoke more strongly, "I'm looking for a friend of mine. Red hair, Scottish girl."

The man's dull eyes seemed to light up, knowing exactly who John was talking about. It was hard to forget a girl like Amy, even if the person controlling her wasn't exactly acting like the regular Amy. The bartender's voice was gravelly as he spoke. "The one with those pretty legs?" he asked with a grin. Sherlock's fists clenched as anger surged through him. He knew that the bartender had no chance with Amy. The Doctor just squirmed a bit uncomfortably, obviously unsure of whether he should agree to the question, which would then involve him admitting that Amy had _really _nice legs.

"Uh, yes," John replied, not having to turn around to know how the other two were reacting. Their silence was enough, and he had to speak up before Sherlock said something stupid. "That's the one. So, you saw her?"

"Just left," the bartender said, shrugging as he moved his hand under the counter and grabbed a dirty rag. It looked like it used to be white, but it was a light gray now, and there were spots and stains speckled all over it. John grimaced as he watched him wipe the sticky counter with the still-dirty rag. No way was he ever coming back to this place. "Carried off a lucky bloke just… Ten minutes ago? Pity. Hope she comes back before my shift is over."

Sherlock took a step forward, but John's hand instantly reached behind him to touch Sherlock's arm, as if he had expected him to do just that. The consulting detective grit his teeth. He just wanted to find Amy, and this guy was talking about trying to get lucky with her. He wanted to tell him what the possibility of _that _happening was.

"You know which way she was headed?" John asked.

The bartender took a long moment to think about this. He scratched his scruffy chin, the dark hairs sticking out of his sickly white skin. He squinted. "I 'member her lookin' for somewhere quick," he said, "The bloke she was with said somethin' 'bout some warehouse down the street. I'd 'ave followed if I wasn't workin', you know?"

John's grimace deepened, but he looked back the Doctor and Sherlock. The Time Lord was smiling and gave the man a thumbs up. They had all the information they needed. Sherlock knew this too, and quickly walked out of the bar and waited outside the car, tapping his foot impatiently with an irritated expression on his face. He had to get out of there before he punched the bartender.

"Thank you," the Doctor said, grabbing John by the arm and pulling him out of the bar, "Now, we don't have much time. They've been gone for maybe fifteen minutes, and… Well, it's Amy with a _very... Needy _alien inside her. A lot could have happened by now."

That really wasn't the right thing to say, and Sherlock slammed the door shut behind him as hard as he could. John sighed as he stuck the key in the ignition. He really had to calm his friend down.

* * *

><p>The warehouse really was at the corner of the same street that the dirty bar was on. It was walking distance for the search party, and they made it there in just under ten minutes. John was the one that stopped Sherlock this time. "Sherlock, she's in there-"<p>

"I'm well-aware, John," he said, his tone fierce. The Doctor felt as though this was a conversation he wasn't a part of. He just hoped that they hurried up. He knew who the alien was, and knew how to get it out of Amy, but the extraction wasn't going to be easy, especially not if she had already taken one victim. The more she killed while the alien was in her body, the harder it was going to get.

"I'm just saying," John sighed, "We need to focus on getting whoever is in there out. Leave the Doctor to figure out how to help Amy. He's got that magic stick-"

"Sonic screwdriver" the Doctor clarified.

John gave him a withering look. "Right," he continued, "He's got that _sonic screwdriver_ of his. And it's going to help her."

Sherlock didn't understand what was with the Doctor, how he could make people trust him so quickly. Even John was turning against him and putting blind faith into a man that wore a silly _bow tie _and ordered cream soda at a pub. Again, Sherlock was left wondering how someone like Amy could like to keep company with two opposites like the Doctor and him.

The three seemed to find a common ground, that Amy was in there, but she wasn't herself. It was Sherlock that John and the Doctor were worried about.

They opened the door to the warehouse, and they entered, single file. Sherlock and John looked over at the Doctor, who held a single finger to his lips, signaling that they keep quiet. What were they supposed to say, anyways? Call out Amy's name? It wasn't Amy that they were after, and it would only scare her away, or speed up the process if she was _really _that far.

The warehouse stored a lot of lumber. Sherlock inhaled the smell of wood. It was cold, and his shoes made a light tapping against the gray cement floors. He was sure there were lights somewhere, but they didn't know where the control panel was, and they had bigger things to do. It was hard for the consulting detective though. His big strength was predicting what would happen based on the information he got from the scene. And he was always right. How was Sherlock supposed to do all that in the dark?

"We need to find lights in here," John muttered, and Sherlock smirked in the darkness, despite the situation. For someone with just the usual "normal" IQ, John really didn't have a hard time keeping up in Sherlock's life. With Amy around, it seemed that was even harder than before.

"We need to find Amelia," the Doctor corrected, though it wasn't haughty. Just matter-of-factly and sort of interested in whatever he was looking at. He shined his sonic in three different directions, then dropped it. "Right. Okay. We also need lights." This is when the Time Lord's face lit up as he realized that he had something to fix that.

"Knew this would come in handy!" he said, shoving his hand into his coat pocket. The Doctor seemed to be rummaging for something, going elbow-deep. Sherlock and John knew this was probably just like the TARDIS, and could be asked later. The Doctor let out a victorious "Aha!" as he pulled two red flashlights and handed them to the other parties. "Was saving them for when I took Amy and Rory to the Crystal Caves of Dunpoor."

"Rory?" Sherlock asked.

"Uh, no one. Just an… Old friend," the Doctor explained, giving the consulting detective a small smile of reassurance. He didn't fall for it, and maybe, the Doctor knew that. "Anyways, we don't want to turn all the lights on, not yet. She'll know we're here, and she'll run. We need to find Amy, but we also need to trap her in one room if we want to get the alien out of her, too."

As long as the Doctor could save Amy, Sherlock didn't really care what his side projects were. The two men nodded. "I'll go left," John volunteered, pointing his flashlight in the direction of a long hallway with a glowing red "Exit" sign above it, before he started walking.

"Straight," Sherlock said, "I'm going straight."

"Alright, you two," the Doctor agreed, but then put in his final words, "Be careful. This isn't the real Amy. You think she's bad enough with the skirts and the flirting _now_. Well… It'll be _much_ worse."

* * *

><p>Nothing was working out for John. Not only could he not find Amy, or any traces of her, he also couldn't find the light switch. John knew that the Doctor had said not to, but it might be easier to solve another problem of John's: he'd lost his torch. Now, he was navigating in the dark, in a place he didn't know, chasing after an alien that could possibly kill him with sex.<p>

The man sighed again as his phone went black again. It was the only thing he could use to navigate around the warehouse, but every three minutes, it went to sleep. He cursed at the piece of technology as he turned it back on, and turned up the brightness. "Damn thing," he muttered, continuing on, before tripping on a stray piece of wood left on the polished cement floor. John groaned loudly, not caring if he was heard by some stupid alien. So far, this was turning out to be one of the worst, and weirdest, cases that him and Sherlock had done, and now he was without a torch, stuck with a phone that didn't want to listen to him, and in a room where the workers obviously hadn't picked up much.

"John?" a voice called out.

He jumped a bit in surprise, but John relaxed when he realized that though the voice was familiar, it definitely wasn't Amy's. So, at least he didn't have to worry about that. A flash of light hit his face, causing John to squint. "Oh, thank goodness. It's just you," the person breathed. John knew who it was. The Doctor. He swished the torch's light away from his face and moved towards the man. "Where's your torch?"

"Oh, I dropped it," John sighed. The two stood there, not sure where to go. The Doctor had obviously been where John was headed, and John had been where the Doctor was headed. It seemed the whole area was covered. "So, you haven't found her yet?"

"No, and I can see you haven't either," the Doctor replied, then handed his flashlight to John. "Here, have this. I'll use my sonic."

"Thanks, mate," the human said, taking it and shining it around the room, "So, if there's nothing this way, and nothing back my way… Should we go back to the start?"

"Yes, good plan! Good plan from John Watson!" the Doctor smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder as they both started walking from where John had just been, "Perhaps Sherlock's found her."

"I wouldn't say that like it's a good thing, Doctor."

"And why's that?" he asked, but then remembered that it was _Amy _that they were looking for. The Doctor was well-aware of her effects on the opposite gender. Hell, on _both _genders at times. He'd been subject to them more often than the Doctor would like to admit, and even _he _had to put a _lot _of effort in resisting her. "Oh," he said, clearing his throat. The Doctor shook his head though, and continued reassuringly, "Well, he's _Sherlock Holmes_. I'm sure if he's found Amy, he's doing just fine."

John shook his head and rolled his eyes, not that the Doctor could see in the dark. The Time Lord obviously hadn't seen what John saw. Yeah, sure, it wasn't hard to catch the looks they gave each other, but the Doctor was obviously missing out on everything else. How Sherlock watched the Doctor and Amy's interactions closely, and how one small touch made the consulting detective gloomy for the next two hours. He didn't see how Sherlock sulked for days after Amy left. He wouldn't ever tell John that it was because of her, but he didn't need to explain. It was obvious. And, most of all, the Doctor hadn't been there the night John had walked in and found Sherlock and Amy alone together. Both had tried to play it casual, but, again, John didn't fall for it. He wasn't falling for anything when it came to those two.

"Right," he said, sarcasm thick in his voice, "I guess we'll see about that."

* * *

><p>The direction that Sherlock had taken was obviously where the exports were kept, piled up high in stacks. He couldn't hear a single thing though, walking through the rows, not for a while. He kept his steps quiet, and moved gracefully, his torch concentrated on the ground. His whole head swam with scenes playing in his head, what could possibly happen to Amy if they didn't make it on time. What broke his thoughts finally was noise. Sherlock almost missed it at first, which was really saying something anyways. But when Sherlock stopped, the noises were clear as day.<p>

Heavy breathing. Lips smacking. Clothes rustling. Sherlock didn't really come to fully realize what it was, what it meant, until he heard her. He could have recognized it anywhere. It was Amy, moaning the same way she had moaned when it was _Sherlock _kissing her. He froze. Sherlock knew where they were, just on the opposite side of the wood pile. He didn't want to see this, had to keep reminding himself that this was the girl that he used to _babysit_, yes, but it was also a girl that would kill someone if he didn't stop her.

Sherlock quickly turned the corner, his fist clenched tightly around the flashlight. He knew what he was getting himself into, but it was really hard to prepare himself for this. Two faces stared back at him, his Amy, and a brunette man with wild, curly hair and facial hair. He was shorter than Sherlock. That helped the ego a bit. What didn't help was their position. Amy was backed up against the stack of wood, her legs wrapped around the man's waist and her short skirt bunching upwards so that it hardly covered anything at all, and her body was flush against his.

The man's breathing was off, but Sherlock's entrance seemed to have gotten him out of the spell that Amy had him under. "I-" he started, trying to explain.

"Get away from her," Sherlock growled, "_Now._" Because this man was going to get punched in the face if he didn't. The consulting detective knew that it wasn't the guy's fault. Amy was already irresistible enough, and now she had an alien of seduction inside of her. _No one _stood a chance.

He took the opportunity to let Amy down, quickly buttoning up his pants. Apparently they'd been close to doing what the alien wanted them to. Too bad it was way closer than Sherlock ever wanted to see anyone with his Amy. The man muttered an apology. He obviously was scared of being caught trespassing and attempting to have sex where he was trespassing. Also, it was just that Sherlock looked so damn angry. There was rage in his blue, cat-like eyes, and his whole body seemed to be trembling at this point. So, the man made a quick bee-line towards the entrance where he came, giving Amy and her disheveled look one last long glance, a bit disappointed with something that he thought could have been amazing.

Amy fixed her skirt, matching Sherlock's glare, neither saying a thing to one another as they heard the fast footsteps fade away. Amy started walking around Sherlock in a small circle, her body just a few inches from his. "You sure can kill a party, can't you, _Sherly_?" she asked, her voice sickly sweet at his nickname. She was mocking him, and Sherlock didn't like that at all.

"Hardly a party," Sherlock shot back, his eyes following her, "More like a trap."

She gave him a pout, her lower lip jutting out. "Oh, you make it seem so bad when you say it like that."

"Well, when one or more of the participants end up dead at the end of your so-called _party_." Sherlock didn't know how to beat this alien. If he hurt it, he hurt Amy, and he couldn't do it. The Doctor had to be here, to wave his wand and figure out a way to save the day. It was so unlike Sherlock, and he would never say this out loud, but he had to admit that the Doctor was the only one who could fix this.

"You're worried about your little Amelia, aren't you?" Amy asked, her eyebrow cocking up. She smirked, stopping her steps right in front of him. She put her hands on Sherlock's chest and pressed her body against his. Amy looked up into Sherlock's eyes. She was hardly visible in the dark, but her eyes, Sherlock could see, were glowing purple. "I can see how jealous you are, but don't worry, Sherlock. You're in there. Naughty, little Amelia Pond fantasizing about her old babysitter…."

"Shut up," Sherlock was able to spit out. The proximity, which would repel him if it was anyone else, was making any form of concentration on his part very difficult. It was all he could think of saying, really.

"She has some _very _creative ideas," Amy purred, obviously not listening. She leaned in even further, whispering in Sherlock's ear. "We can try one, if you like."

His eyes slid shut, and swallowed. Sherlock knew that finding Amy meant not having the answers to save her, and that his anger could cloud his judgment. He _hadn't _expected this, to have Amy, or the alien inside Amy, trick him, to have _lust _be what clouded everything. Sherlock had always that he was asexual, that he didn't feel those things, didn't feel anything. It was easier that way. Sherlock never had to lose anything he cared about if he didn't care about them at all, and sex was a part of that… But he couldn't pull away.

"Stop it."

Amy chuckled, the creature inside her seeing that Sherlock wasn't trying to remove himself. She nibbled on the lobe of his ear, moving down Sherlock's jawline and pressing soft kisses on his skin. "Why don't you make me?"

Sherlock was now in the same position that the man before had just been in. Not physically yet, but mentally. He was under Amy's spell, and as hard as he tried to fight it, Sherlock couldn't move, couldn't help his hands moving up to grip her hips or tilt his head to the side to give Amy's lips on his pale skin more room. "I- I… I mean it." Sherlock's voice had never sounded so thick before, so… _Wanting_.

"You don't sound like you do," she replied, moving up to the other side of Sherlock's face and kissing his cheekbones. Amy pulled away slightly and looked into Sherlock's eyes. It was still dark, save his torch, but he could see her eyes. They were glowing purple. "So stop fighting it, Sherly."

The last sentence was what got him. Because it sounded like her, what Amy would say. Maybe the creature meant it that way, and Sherlock wondered this, but he couldn't care anymore. She was exuding pheromones that his body was picking up on. The creature had him. Amy, like always, had him. Sherlock moved one hand from her hip and put it behind her head, pressing his lips to hers in a heated kiss. Amy turned them around and pressed Sherlock up against the same wooden stacks where she'd been before. She moaned into the kiss, her hands sliding upwards to rid Sherlock of his scarf, unwinding it and tossing the garment somewhere on the ground.

Sherlock barely noticed it. He barely noticed anything. The first time he had kissed Amy, he had tried to keep it scientific, thinking of the chemicals being produced and taken to the brain. But now Sherlock couldn't even think of a single one of them. All he was focusing on was Amy's tongue brushing against his lower lip, slipping together with his own, and what he wanted to do, what apparently he had _always _wanted to do according to his body language. Amy had already lost her jacket from the last snog session she'd just had, but instead of feeling jealous, Sherlock just felt happy that he had less clothes to deal with.

His hands were playing with the hem of her shirt, a little hesitant even _with _the spell under him. The creature in Amy seemed to notice, and broke the kiss to take off her own shirt. One hand grabbed Sherlock's wrist and placed it on her breast, sighing softly. "Come on, Sherlock," she smirked, "Don't tell me the world's one and only consulting detective is _nervous_."

His eyes narrowed, looking at Amy as she challenged him. Sherlock's sight was adjusted enough to see the outline of her body and face. And there was no missing the purple irises, but he had stopped caring about that a long time ago. The hand not on her chest gripped Amy's hip harder, and Sherlock turned them around so that it was _her _backed up against the wood. Amy, or the creature inside her, seemed to be expecting that he'd rise to the challenge and let out a satisfied gasp as her body hit the surface, a grin on her face.

"You forgot _the best_," Sherlock corrected, then kissed Amy passionately once more, and neither seemed like they wanted to surface from it any time soon.

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	19. You'll Still Be Standing Next to Me

**Hey, guys. I know this took forever, but I've been busy and then I just... Eh. I kept forgetting to figure out how this alien was supposed to be killed. Because it IS that sex alien from Torchwood. I know some people guessed it and I forgot to confirm that, lol. Anyways, yeah. Those who guessed were totally right. **

**Again, really sorry for the delay. I promise I'm getting back into this. I was never giving up on it. I guess I just needed a little break or something, idk. But I'm done being lazy! Review to get a sneak peek! Anyways, I guess I should let you carry on and read the chapter since you haven't had any new material in like two months. ALSO. HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN THE NEW TEASER TRAILER FOR SEASON 3?! So excited for everything but John's mustache. But yeah! Enjoy(: **

John and the Doctor had been able to find their way back to the entrance they came through pretty easily, now that they had the torch _and _the screwdriver. There was no trace of Sherlock though, and still no trace of Amy. All they could hear were their own footsteps and the buzzing of the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. And the beeping of John's phone.

"I've sent him six messages," John said, sighing as the words "Message Sent" blinked on his phone. He needed to find Sherlock, sure that he couldn't handle Amy on his own. Usually his friend text back within a few seconds, but now he wasn't replying back at all. It was only making John more worried.

"No answers, then?" the Doctor asked, then flashed his sonic in another direction, "I guess we better head in his direction. Try calling him."

John nodded, dialing Sherlock's number and holding it his ear. It kept ringing, and after a minute of the ringing, it went to his voicemail. He groaned. "He didn't pick up," John said, "It's definitely on. He's just not answering."

"He may have found her, and could be trying to keep low," the Doctor suggested, trying to stay optimistic about the whole thing. The man didn't say anything back though. What could he say? They just had to keep looking for Sherlock and Amy, and hope that they were in separate places.

They kept walking in silence, both wishing that Sherlock was just around the corner. But he never was. When they entered a larger room, one filled with big stacks of wood, the Doctor's head tilted as soon as they walked in, his eyes widening as he straightened up. He put a hand in front of John, silently telling him to stop, and he released his hand from the button on the sonic. "Turn off your light," he whispered.

"What? Why?"

"Do you trust me, John Watson?" the Doctor asked.

This was when he hesitated. He hardly knew the Time Lord, and still didn't get a lot about him. He wasn't even fully aware that the Doctor wasn't human. After all, he looked it. Still, there was the bigger-on-the-inside TARDIS and the weird "screwdriver" that seemed to do absolutely everything. And the absolutely wacky personality of the Doctor in general. But… He _did _trust him. So far, the Doctor had had all the answers. Had he led them into danger in the first place? Pretty much. But there was something about him that made John believe that he had a way out of all of it, too.

"Yes," John replied finally, his voice still a bit unsure.

The Doctor smiled softly. "Then turn off the light, and follow me."

John did as he was told, his thumb hitting the switch and pushing it down, the light flickering out. The two stood there for just a small moment, enough to let their eyes adjust to the dark. The Doctor kept his arm held out as he started to walk forward slowly, making sure that John didn't lose him. He moved his feet in front of himself carefully, quietly. They moved to one stack of wood, then another, and soon John could hear exactly what the Doctor had heard from the minute they walked in there. Two people that were most definitely snogging…

"Amelia…" a voice breathed, his voice a deep, smooth baritone. It was evident that he was about to say more, but then someone was softly shushing him, and the smacking of lips continued.

John's eyes almost popped out of his sockets when he recognized who was speaking. Not only was he now perfectly aware that that was Sherlock, and that he was in danger, but he was also aware that, well, it was _Sherlock_, _Sherlock _snogging someone and practically moaning their name. Now he wasn't just worried and scared for his friend's life. He was also a bit nauseous. John looked over at the Doctor and saw that something along those lines were running through the Time Lord's head. He obviously felt just as uncomfortable hearing his companion with another man right around the corner.

_What do we do? _John mouthed, too afraid to make a single sound.

The Doctor didn't answer for a second. He wasn't the type that had the little plans at hand. He just always had an overall one, and this new surprise… Even though it was on the list of fears, it wasn't something he'd been expecting. He swallowed just as Amy whimpered at something Sherlock was doing. If/when he got that alien out of Amy and got this all figured out, she was going to owe him… Perhaps she could recommend him to one of the many therapists she'd had as a child, because he was probably going to need it after this. _Just follow me and keep your eyes down_, the Doctor mouthed back.

_When in doubt, improvise._

"Oh, look what we have here!" the Doctor cried as he popped out in front of Amy and Sherlock. John dropped his jaw, shocked that the Time Lord was making such a bold move. He wasn't used to the Doctor's whole "winging it" thing.

He followed quickly after though, and saw what Sherlock had seen when _he _had walked in and found Amy with the male stranger from the pub. Clothes littered the floor, Sherlock's scarf, his coat, Amy's shirt. The redhead was backed against the stack with Sherlock pressing his body against hers, her skirt riding up, and her skin pale against the light of John's torch. When she looked at John and the Doctor, her lips were pink and her eyes glowed a bright violet as they narrowed in irritation. Sherlock meanwhile, hadn't met their gazes, still looking at Amy as if he was in a drunk stupor. His lips were swollen, his hair was mussed up, and his button-down shirt was hanging loose, Amy's hands paused at his shoulders as she was about to tear it off.

John managed to wave awkwardly, his eyes quickly dropping. He didn't _ever _think he'd see his friend in this sort of situation. He honestly had never wanted to. Sherlock, meanwhile, was finally starting to get a clear head. His attention wasn't on Amy anymore, nor was her attention on him. He blinked quickly, looked up at the Doctor and John, then took in his appearance. Sherlock coughed nervously, quickly taking a few steps back to John and the Doctor's side, facing Amy, while he fixed up his buttons.

"Having fun there, mate?" John asked, not even looking in his friend's direction.

"Shut up," Sherlock retorted, not having anything to say back, because, well, it was quite clear that he _had _been enjoying himself. And, of course, he knew this, so staying quiet was the best thing that Sherlock could really do at that moment. It wasn't exactly the time for arguments, and saying anything else would just make it even worse. Better to focus on Amy being possessed at the moment. "How are supposed to get this out of her?"

The Doctor pursed his lips and scanned Amy with the screwdriver, who was now crossing her arms and staring between John and Sherlock, trying to catch one of their eyes. The Doctor knew he had to be careful. She was probably going to run out if she realized what a lost hope the three of them were. Then again, there were only two exits, the closest one in his direction. Keeping that in mind, he flicked the sonic up and looked at the readings. "However we get her out, it has to be soon," he said, "If she doesn't feed soon, then the host, or well, Amy…"

He didn't have to say it. John and Sherlock already knew. The Doctor had to think, but he had to think quickly. "Sherlock, grab her," the Doctor ordered, his tone firm. Despite their differences and fight for power, Sherlock did as he was told quickly. "I need to think, and she'll use that as a distraction. Do not look into her eyes, and keep a hold of her hands."

Amy smirked as Sherlock moved behind her, his fingers wrapping around her wrists and keeping them together. He pushed her against the wood they'd both just been snogging against, though not harshly. Even if there was some weird sex alien in there, it was still Amy, and Sherlock had a feeling she'd kill if from all these splinters she'd be getting. "You know, Sherly," she chuckled, her voice low and sultry, "If you wanted it rough like this, all you had to do was ask." Sherlock tried his best to ignore it.

Meanwhile, John did his best to keep an eye on both situations. He knew that Sherlock had been in a… Predicament before. He was worried it'd happen again. But he also wanted to know what was running through the Doctor's head. "So, what do we do?" he asked, glancing over at the Time Lord while his flashlight stayed on the other two.

"We have to get that out of her," the Doctor said quietly. He didn't want Amy over-hearing, and from the looks of it, it seemed she was too busy trying to charm Sherlock and get into trousers to finish what they had started. "The alien doesn't have a physical form. It's a gas with high levels of hormones and chemicals. That's why Julie died afterwards. The human body can't handle all of that. Not yet, anyways. Gotta love evolution, right? Just wait until you all lose your pinky toes-"

"Doctor," John interrupted, reminding him this was a time-sensitive issue.

"Right, never mind. So!" the Doctor continued, getting back on point, "We have to find a way to get her out, but the gas won't take the male form, so we can't _lure_ it out to switch…" He paused, a thought coming to his head. He turned to Sherlock. "Holmes, hold down the fort for _just _a minute, will you?" The Doctor motioned for John. "Come along, Watson."

John was a little hesitant with leaving the two, and he glanced over at his friend, who seemed to stare levelly back at him, as if it was to tell him he was stupid for even _thinking _that Sherlock would be anything but okay. Of _course _he could handle it. Since he did such a great job before. But there was nothing that John could do. He had to help get that thing, gas or actual life form, out of Amy before she went and died. He knew what that would do to Sherlock. That was worse than anything. "Alright," the man said with a nod, "Let's make it quick."

Sherlock pressed his lips together, watching the two go. He was fine. He'd be perfectly fine. He was Sherlock Holmes after all. He had more self-control than the whole Scotland Yard combined. As long as Sherlock stayed where he was at and didn't look into Amy's eyes or give into anything she did or said. That was when he decided silence might be the best strategy.

As always, Amy had different ideas. She squirmed slightly, though Sherlock had a great grip on her. She exhaled quietly. "Sherlock?" she asked. Her voice was quiet and pleading. "It's me, Amy." He still didn't say anything. "Sherlock, I don't have much time. I keep fighting this thing, but... Can you just say something? Please?"

He didn't believe her. Sherlock had dealt with many criminals before, and sometimes he thought that his babysitting job with Amy was like training for that. Even as a kid, she was great at acting and lying. More than once, he'd fallen for her lies. More than once, Amy had told Sherlock that she was just going to play around the yard, but then came back hours later with an ice cream cone she bought at the store five blocks away. Of course, Sherlock was always just bad at noticing these kinds of things. It took him days to realize that John had gone on a weekend vacation at times.

Amy sighed, obviously getting impatient with him and squirmed some more. "Okay, fine." A couple seconds of silence. When she next spoke, her voice sounded hopeless and resigned. "I'm not going to last, am I?" Beat. "Ugh, you're so stupid, you know that? I'm giving my last words, and you won't even talk to me!" Another beat. "Fine. Just listen then!"

"I know she kissed you, or that I kissed you. Whatever," Amy said, and Sherlock could just imagine her rolling her eyes, which she did, but it was dark and she was facing away from him. "But that time in yours and John's apartment…" She breathed, and laughed a bit. "God, this is embarrassing, but I just need to say it… I've wanted you, Sherlock. Since your birthday at that pub. I don't know, maybe before that. I could have had a crush on you. I don't think I noticed because I was always looking for my-"

"Raggedy Doctor," Sherlock finished. He hadn't meant to speak, but he supposed that it was just what he was thinking, what she was saying. Sherlock didn't know what he was feeling. He never really knew what he was feeling when it came to Amy. She amused him, infuriated him, made him question things, and baffled the hell out of him. Was this what he wanted to hear?

Amy smiled. "Yeah, my Raggedy Man," she echoed, taking another breath, "Can hardly call him a man though. Now that I've travelled with him, I just… He wasn't what I thought. He's great and everything, but he's dorky and clumsy and he wears those _stupid _bow ties." She bit her lip. "And now that I've seen what he really is, that he's just a madman in box, and I… I know what I want. You."

"And why should I believe you?" Sherlock asked her, the consulting detective in him coming out. It was dark, yes, so it was hard to use his eyes, but that didn't cancel out any of his other senses. He still had a sense of hearing and feeling. Though feeling probably wasn't what he wanted to do, either.

"Don't pull the investigation crap on me," Amy groaned, "Sherly, I'm not asking you to believe me, I'm just- I wanted you to know. Before this thing takes me."

Sherlock slackened his grip just slightly. Not enough for Amy to get out of. He leaned forward. Whether this was really her or not, she needed to hear this. "_Nothing _is taking you away from me, do you understand, Amelia?"

Amy smiled in the dark, and with strength that Sherlock didn't know she had in her, the strength of a dying gaseous alien that was starving for the orgasmic energy, she turned fast, her arms wrapping around his neck. His eyes narrowed, but it was too late. He could see the purple-ish glow that had never really faded. "You-"

"Ooh, tough break, Sherly," she grinned, and leaned forward, kissing his lips gently. He responded instantly, his hands moving around her hips, "Now, why don't we speed things up? I think we talked about something a little rougher earlier, and I'd hate to not take a _little _bit of your opinion into consideration."

Sherlock was mesmerized again, and he knew he should care. Everything in him was screaming to care. Well, there were a couple parts that were definitely okay with this. Which was why he ended up kissing Amy again, pressing her even harder against the wood pile.

* * *

><p>"Doctor, what is it?" John asked. He wanted to get back to Sherlock as soon as he could. There was just not a lot to trust about the whole situation.<p>

"I know how to get the gas out of Amy," the Doctor said, "Normally, I would do it. But it already knows that I'm not a human male, and since it's in a human woman's body, that's what it can feed on."

"Okay…"

"We have to subject someone to it again," the Doctor said. He could see that John was about ready to protest, so he held a finger up to his lips. "Hush, Watson. Still explaining." John frowned and the Time Lord moved his finger away, swiping in on his tweed jacket a couple times before continuing. "Using Sherlock would be too risky. Using _you _is too risky. I mean, you're _the _Sherlock Holmes and John Watson! But it'd be better…"

"You want _me_ to kiss Amy and force the sex alien out, don't you?" John sighed, "Sherlock's not going to like this."

"He's also not going to like watching Amy die and neither will I," the Doctor pointed out, "So, we're going to have to do this."

"But the rest of the blokes that tried having a good time with that thing ended up dead in filthy alleys!" he hissed.

"And luckily, we're in a filthy warehouse instead!" the Doctor smiled, clapping John on the shoulders. John didn't seem to find that too amusing, and the Time Lord's grin faltered, his hands dropping. "That's not going to happen to you. Like I said, you and Sherlock are very important. I can't have you dying on me either. You're just going to have to trust me again, alright?"

John groaned. "Bullocks," he said, obviously giving up, "I don't know how Amy travels with you all the time."

"I travel with the best for a reason," the Doctor whispered conspiratorially, giving him a wink, "Now, there's going to be a moment, a moment of weakness. That's when I get the little gas alien to come out. Shine the light over here, will you?"

He did as he was told, helping the Doctor by putting the light on his sonic screwdriver as the Doctor started to tinker with it. "What are you doing?"

The Doctor looked for a moment and smiled. "Wait and see," he answered, then turned on his heels back towards where Amy and Sherlock were. "Let's go get the mean, sexy alien, shall we?"

John breathed slowly. At least they had a plan now, even if he didn't know half of it. The Doctor looked pretty sure of himself, and that was all he was going to go off of. Everything was going to go according to plan.

"A_me_lia," a voice whispered, followed by the sound of a female chuckle.

The Doctor face-palmed, stopping in his tracks and groaned. "You know, for someone that is so dedicated to his work, he _really _is forming a habit of getting distracted _from his work_!" Not that he could really blame Sherlock. Like he'd told the two men before they went into the building, the only thing worse than Amy in a miniskirt was "possessed by a sex gas" Amy in a miniskirt. "This was exactly what I didn't want! It's going to get too-"

"Doctor, you can still do it with Sherlock as the bait," John said, "I know he can do it, whatever you need him to. But hurry before I have to hear something I _really _don't want to. And, you know, before they both die while shagging."

The Time Lord grimaced. Despite the flirty banter between himself and Amy, there was always times where he thought of her as that little girl who'd taken him into her home and fed him fish fingers and custard. No way did he want to think of her "shagging" Sherlock just on the other side of this pile of stacked wood. "Right, okay," he nodded, wincing slightly as Amy gasped. He didn't want to know what Sherlock was doing. "Change of plans. John, take the sonic."

"What?"

"I was going to have you do this anyways, just as she was trancing you, but it seems Amy's already…" A playful shriek. "Yes, that. Now, before I tell you to go out there, answer me this: are you attracted to Amy in any way?"

John paused, looking at the Doctor oddly. "Um, no," he answered, "I mean, she's a pretty girl, but I hardly know her. Besides, her and Sherlock-"

"Exactly," the Time Lord interrupted, "Alright, _great_. You really will do perfectly. Now, I need you to go and interrupt Sherlock and Amy. Just dive _right _on in there and let her get you. Act like you're trying to save Sherlock's life, a last sacrifice for your best friend. "

"Where's the part where I don't shag Amy until I die?" John asked.

"That's where the sonic comes in," the Doctor explained, "Normally, we could try to lure it out and put in something, but I didn't exactly know what we were dealing with. Herego, Special Alien Jar was left in the TARDIS."

"Where are we going to put it then?"

"The sonic screwdriver needs to be pointed at Amy's temple. It doesn't matter which one, but it'll help filter the chemicals out of her brain. The sonic energy flowing through her will have to force the gas out before it can get the time to kill her. Then, push the switch up. It'll keep the gas in suspended pocket. The vibrations the screwdriver sends out will immobilize it."

"And then what?"

The Doctor pursed his lips. "And then we starve it." This wasn't usually the way the Doctor rolled. He never killed any organism. But this wasn't a living organism. This was an active cloud filled with high pheromones and chemicals. It was like… Killing the Dream Lord by getting rid of the psychic pollen. It wasn't the pollen or the gas that was evil. It was just the effects that it had on people, the being it created when it found a solid form. "Now, don't worry. I'll get everyone out of harm's way when the time comes. Just make sure you do _not _look into her eyes. Then you really _will _be lost. Convince her that you've fallen for her trick, even if you haven't." He smiled, but it faltered again when they heard another low groan from Sherlock.

"We should go before they-" John started.

"Yeah, probably," the Doctor agreed.

They both walked back towards Sherlock and Amy, turning the corner to find exactly what they had before: rustled hair, removed clothing, swollen lips, and entangled limbs. The Doctor pushed John out into their view and nodded towards him, his eyes darting down to the sonic screwdriver. It was time to put the plan in action.

"Hey!" John called out, switching his flashlight beam towards the pair. Amy whispered something into Sherlock's ear, and the consulting detective began kissing down her neck, his hands lifting up the hem of her shirt slowly. She looked up at John and smirked.

"You _really _going to try and stop me this time?" she asked, her breath slightly ragged, "I'll get what I want."

From the Doctor's view, the Time Lord saw John's grip on the sonic screwdriver tighten. "Fine," John said, his tone still shaky despite how brave he was trying to be, "Take me, then." That was when he ducked out of the Doctor's vision.

John ran towards the two and pushed Sherlock out of the way. He didn't look at Amy in the eyes, being very careful. He could see the purple irises glowing and boring into him. He focused on her nose instead, letting his breathing quicken and his jaw go slack. Amy smiled. Was she actually falling for it?

Sherlock wasn't as pleased. "Hey!" he yelled. He had almost been taken down to the ground, but managed to gain his balance. Sherlock felt jealousy rage through him as he looked at his two friends, but as the stupor started to fade, so did the strong feelings. Well, they went down a _little _bit.

"Brave boy," Amy smirked, stroking down John's cheek with her index finger. She didn't even glance towards Sherlock. "Now, let's make this quick. I'm starting to get rather hungry. Sherly, you can stay if you like. I don't mind an audience."

John tried not to grimace at the sound of that. Luckily, Amy was already leaning forward and kissing him. It wasn't slow at all. It was eager and probing, and the feeling of her hand on the waistband of his trousers showed she really _did _want it quick. Sherlock noticed where they were, and although he was having _very _angry thought at the moment, he knew it wasn't really Amy. And he knew he had to save John. He was about to lunge for his friend, when something hit him from the side, and this time he really did fall to the ground, a body on top of him. Sherlock looked up. It was the Doctor. "Get off me!"

"Don't move!" the Time Lord hissed.

"He's going to-"

"All part of the plan!"

John closed his eyes and let himself get into the kiss. He felt Amy's pawing hands and as she unzipped him, he knew that now was the time. Because no way in hell was she getting his trousers off in front of the Doctor and Sherlock. His hand rose up, the cool tip of the sonic screwdriver pressing against her temple. He pressed the button and the buzzing started. John opened his eyes as Amy pulled away, gasping. The green light lit her face up, and he watched as her eyes flickered colors, her regular brown-green and the purple. It seemed to be leaving her.

"John, the screwdriver!" the Doctor shouted over Amy's gasping and gagging and coughing. Sherlock felt fear strike him. It looked like she was choking on something, and he had no idea what this plan was. He watched as John tossed the screwdriver and moved away from Amy, the Doctor catching it easily. He poised the gadget at Amy's mouth which was now gaping open.

She screamed and Sherlock moved to grab her, but suddenly John was there, holding him back. He could have fought him off, but then the sonic was buzzing and Sherlock looked up to see a purple gas hovering over the both of them. John and Sherlock stared up, fascinated. He wondered what was in the gas, small living organisms? What kind of chemical compounds? He would have focused on that longer, but he could see Amy out of the corner of his eye starting to falter and fall to the ground. John let him go this time as he dove in front of her to catch her. She landed easily into his arms, going limp instantly.

"Amelia?" Sherlock murmured, turning her face, which was resting on his shoulder, "Amelia, are you okay?" He moved one hand and pressed his thumb against the pulse point on the inside of her wrist. There was a pulse there, but it was weak. Still, it was better than nothing.

"Don't worry," the Doctor told him, glancing over quickly before staring back at the gas. It made a shrill noise and was starting to clear. "She's just going to need some rest and a good, old cup of tea."

* * *

><p>"So it's just gone?" Lestrade asked Sherlock over the phone, "You're telling me that the murders are over?"<p>

Sherlock watched from his living room as the Doctor and Mrs. Hudson fluttered about the kitchen, finding Amy some form of food and tea. John sat across from her at the table, keeping an eye on the redhead, who was being uncharacteristically quiet. Sherlock was making sure to keep his eyes on her as well. "That's exactly what I'm telling you, Lestrade."

He could hear the man sigh. "You understand what the press is going to think, don't you? I'm going to go out there with no May Street Killer and just a promise that it's good now."

"I'm sure you're capable of handling it," Sherlock replied, and then he clicked the phone off, stuffing it into his pocket. He went into the kitchen right as Mrs. Hudson was pouring everyone tea.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," John said, smiling and starting to put sugar in his.

"Oh, it's no trouble, John," she smiled, then stuck up a finger and wagged it slightly, "But I'm not your housemaid, remember that."

Sherlock smirked, and from the corner of his eye, he saw a corner of Amy's mouth turn up. He sat beside her at the table and took her cup. He knew how she liked her tea, having had to make it enough when the Doctor had first left her. She had always hated his coffee. "Here," he said, sliding it back over to her before fixing his own. The Doctor sat next to John, and Mrs. Hudson placed a piece of cake in front of Amy.

"Eat up, Pond," the Doctor smiled, "Getting possessed by a sexual alien gas tends to drain a person."

A shaky hand moved and grabbed the fork that Mrs. Hudson had given her. Everyone was watching her and she knew it. Amy looked up. "You can all stop staring at me, thanks," she said, sounding a bit irritated, but it was in the Amy Pond way where they knew she wasn't so upset about it, just a bit annoyed with the attention and pity. They got the message though and started talking amongst themselves as Amy pecked at her chocolate cake. Sherlock sipped his tea, listening rather than taking part in the conversation. The Doctor was answering all the questions he'd had when he had watched the gas dissipate in the the atmosphere, about what it was made out of, how it wasn't really a living being, and all that, but Sherlock felt a cold hand search for his under the table, one he instantly tangled fingers with. He looked over at Amy.

She looked at him, not saying a word. Sherlock didn't say anything either. There was a quiet buzz around them as Mrs. Hudson dished some cake out for everyone else and the Doctor explained how sex gases were used as a weapon of war in the Hycrobian galaxy during the 62nd century. No one seemed to notice the two looking at each other, a tiny smile on their faces.

Amy squeezed Sherlock's hand; he squeezed back.

**Subscribe. Favorite. Review. Or I'll tell Sherlock you stole his favorite scarf.**


	20. You Said It Wasn't Good Enough

**Hello, all! Sorry for the delay. I got addicted to this Game of Thrones: Ascent game on Facebook and I got a new kitten (named her Khaleesi). Who is now like my best friend. (Sorry, Teagan. She's cuter.) Anyways, the real hold up was just the fact that I had no idea what to do next. I didn't know where to place them chronologically and I honestly only ever watched season 1 and 2 of Sherlock once. And that was like early 2012. So I needed to brush up on my Sherlock knowledge and figure stuff out! But laziness, I swear...**

**So. Now that you've heard why I took 5ever for this, I'm just going to say SORRY! Especially to those I sent sneak peeks to, because... I did my re-watch AFTER I wrote that and it just didn't fit. So I rewrote half the chapter, the half that was given to you in the preview :P Also, I'd like to thank wholockavenger. Just because she sent me a PM that I read yesterday and she kicked my butt into gear. xD So... I just finished writing this chapter like ten minutes ago.**

**Also, a head's up. There are spoilers for "A Sign of Four" if you've never read the actual books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I _did _change a little bit of it, you'll notice so that it fits modern times, kind of. Because usually there's not a bunch of treasure chests lying around to fight over these days... **

**Since it's been that long, I think we need a reminder that a review gets a (hopefully accurate next time) sneak peek! And... I guess that's it? Enjoy! **

The Doctor left Amy. It was her idea, and it wasn't a permanent thing. Being possessed though, it really did things to a girl. She'd seen the look on his face though. The Doctor was scared that this time, she'd been pushed too far, but Amy assured him otherwise. "Oi, it's only going to be a week, yeah? Or five minutes for you if you really miss me that bad," she smiled. They were standing by the front doors of the TARDIS in Amy's yard, where she'd seen the Doctor crash into her aunt's shed so many years ago. "Besides, it's either this or I try inviting you up to the bedroom again."

That seemed to change the Doctor's attitude. His eye widened and his mouth opened, then closed, then opened, then frowned, then turned into a glare, then smiled. "Alright, fine," the Doctor chuckled. He sighed. "You've got me there."

Amy grinned. She threw her arms around him and hugged the Time Lord tightly. "Try to be on time, Raggedy Man. If I have to wait another fourteen years, I might just kill you."

He laughed softly, hugging back. "I'll be on time. Cross my hearts, Pond," the Doctor promised, pulling away slightly and looking back up at the house, "Sure you don't want to stay in the TARDIS? We can have a few days in. I can find that old DVD player, bring in the sofa from the library, make some tea… You wouldn't _believe_ all the different teas I have stored in the TARDIS' kitchen. I might _actually _still have a bag or two from the very shipment that was dumped into the ocean by the Boston Tea Party. Oh, and-"

"Nice thought, Doctor," Amy interrupted, laughing. She sighed and patted his shoulders, "But you go crazy staying somewhere for more than _twenty minutes_, and I… Just need a little bit of my human life right now."

The Doctor pressed his lips together, but smiled. It was sad, sometimes, when his companions had to take a break from travelling. Not only was there jealousy stemming from the fact that _he _couldn't just pop back home for a home-cooked, Time Lord meal, but it was also just because it made him feel all the lonelier. Was he really the only person in the universe that was able to really live out this life of a constant space-and-time-traveler? He didn't say any of this though, simply nodding. "I understand," he replied, and completely pulled out of the hug, taking the couple of steps back towards his TARDIS, walking backwards. "But when you get back, I've got a wonderful idea for our next trip! The fifth moon of Cinda Callista! Oh, it's magnificent! If you call _this _place a garden, just wait until you see the landscape they have there! The violet grass, glittering, diamond mountains…. Oh, Amelia Pond, just you wait!"

Amy crossed her arms and just laughed at him. There was no way she could give this up. There was no way she could even think about this being an actual goodbye, nor could she think about there every being one. He was her Raggedy Doctor, and she had two thirds of her life waiting for him, dreaming of the adventures they'd have. Amy was going to make sure she got her fourteen years-worth of time-traveling. "See you in a week, Idiot."

He walked through the TARDIS doors and then darted his head out once more, the Doctor's brown flop of his hair swaying over one eye. "See you in five minutes, Pond."

There was never a time that Amy had ever thought she would let the Doctor leave her again, but she just knew that he would be back. He had promised a week, and this time, the engines were re-phasing. He'd be back. He said a week, and he'd be there. Amy trusted him.

* * *

><p>Okay, so he was five days late.<p>

Amy tried not to go too crazy, but she had really stopped liking Earth the third day she was there. It was just… Different. After she'd gone and seen all those amazing things in the universe, it was difficult to find any sort of comfort or entertainment in Leadworth. Well, more difficult than it usually was to be entertained and comforted, anyways. Amy's aunt had found a man eventually and was living with him in Brighton. Mels had decided to quit her job and had taken a spontaneous trip to France for the next few months, wreaking havoc there and uploading millions of pictures of her surrounded by a bunch of French boys. Amy made sure to keep her phone charged and her line open in case Mels needed bailing out from a French prison. And, of course, Jeff had gotten a better job in London after the Doctor had had him help out with Atraxi and Prisoner Zero.

She was all alone.

It really felt like there was something missing, like there was someone that Amy just wasn't remembering to add to her list of people to visit, but she couldn't pinpoint who, and after a couple of days, she gave up, deciding that she wasn't going to figure it out anytime soon. On the fifth night, Amy went out with a couple of her kissogram friends for drinks, but there was still that feeling that she shouldn't be spending her vacation from the TARDIS like this, that there was someone else that she should be with in Leadworth.

That was what led her to Sherlock. Amy told herself as she packed a few days' clothing that she was _just _planning a spontaneous trip to London. Mels wasn't the only one that could pull a surprise trip. It had nothing to do with the consulting detective that she had really almost had sex with just a week before. Amy tried not to think about that. After she'd been released and eaten her cake, Sherlock and Amy had gone back to their old routine, banter and flirtation and arguing. And then she'd gone with the Doctor like it didn't matter that she was leaving him behind, while Sherlock let her, acting like it really _didn't _matter that she was just leaving like that. Amy hated that it had gone and made their friendship awkward. They had only kissed before, and for some reason, it was like what the sex alien had violated their relationship, had rushed them into something that the two of them weren't exactly ready to do with each other, despite how Sherlock reacted to Amy while under the sex alien's power, and despite what "Amy" had told Sherlock about wanting him.

It was that very reason that Amy decided it would be a horrible idea for her to see Sherlock. She was just going to go to London, visit a pub, find a cute guy (seeing as Leadworth was definitely lacking with over 80% of its citizens being over the age of 50), and then would proceed to shag him senseless, shag him until she forgot about her old babysitter and possessions and Time Lords and imaginary friends. Yes, that was most definitely the plan. And since the Doctor was already five days late, Amy decided to leave a message on her door that she would be out for a few more days because of him being late always and to call her as soon as he finished reading the note so she could tell him where she was at. With that being the only thing needing to be settled, Amy called a cab and started her trip towards London.

* * *

><p>Sherlock had just finished up another case absolutely brilliantly. Sadly, it was just <em>too <em>easy. It was hardly a challenge, and therefore the high that came after solving a case wasn't lasting very long. The consulting detective sighed, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair. He just wanted something to do… And John was still angry with Sherlock for turning his first date with Sarah into a near-death experience involving yellow graffiti paint and acrobatic assassins. And Sherlock certainly didn't want to spend the whole day with Mrs. Hudson, who babbled all day about the most mundane things. Still, she was the closest thing he had to a traditional mother figure. Mrs. Holmes had always been rather… Detached from her kids before.

The doorbell rang. Sherlock ignored it, letting it go. There was a slight chance that it could be another case, but if that was so, he really would rather John be here for it. John was always the one that let the clients in. Sherlock was the one that kicked them out when it turned out their complicated case was actually something absolutely simple. Them and their stupid building notoriety. This person waited a moment, but then pressed the bell twice more. _Impatient_, Sherlock noted, _Could show a sense of urgency… No, no. They would have called ahead. A pushy door-to-door salesman?_

Now the person was knocking on the door downstairs. From the speed and power of those knocks, Sherlock assumed that whoever it was was starting to get irritated. Small, hurried footsteps meant that Mrs. Hudson had obviously heard the very persistent visitor. He heard the door open, taking a drink of his tea as he listened. "Oh, hello dear!" Mrs. Hudson cried cheerfully, "Come in, come in."

There was a female laugh, loud and obnoxious. Sherlock almost choked on his tea, knowing who it was instantly. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson!" a Scottish woman replied, "Sherly home?"

He could hear the footsteps of the two women coming up the stairs. Sherlock glanced down at himself, realizing he wasn't exactly dressed for company. He was still in his pajamas, for Christ's sake, and what was Amy doing back so soon? It'd only been a couple weeks since that night in the warehouse. Where were the Doctor and the TARDIS?

"Now, John told me Sherlock was still up here," Mrs. Hudson explained to Amy. Sherlock could hear them getting closer and darted for his room. He quickly tossed his robe off and grabbed a shirt from his closet, throwing it over his shoulders. "I don't know why he'd be ignoring the door."

"Because he's a _lazy pain the arse_?" Amy suggested, speaking louder just so that he could hear her insult. And he could, shaking his head as he tore a pair of dark trousers off a hanger and threw it on the bed. He slid his pajama bottoms down and put on the trousers, buttoning them up quickly and zipping up the zipper. He could hear the steps were getting closer, just outside the door. He tucked his shirt in and buttoned it up with his long, slender fingers as he multi-tasked and slipped on his shoes and started walking back towards his seat.

"Now, now, Amy," Mrs. Hudson said soothingly, "We all know how Sherlock can be. But he's just finished a case, so he ought to be in a good mood. Why don't we just try knocking and see if he-"

Just as Sherlock plopped down on the seat, his teacup in hand and poised gracefully, Amy burst in. Her arms crossed when she saw Sherlock's casual position, her eyebrow raising as she walked in. "Why, hello Amelia," he said smoothly, following her with his eyes before looking down and taking a drink of tea, "I don't suppose you've ever heard of _knocking_, have you?"

"And I don't suppose you've ever heard of answering the bloody door, have you?" Amy shot back, sitting down on the couch and making herself comfortable.

Mrs. Hudson hovered awkwardly for a moment before looking at the two and smiling. "How about I put on a fresh kettle then?" she asked, "Do you fancy some tea, Amy?"

Amy looked over at the older woman and smiled sweetly, nodding. Sherlock shook his head in slight disgust. She may have been a troublemaker, but Amy had always been charismatic enough to charm the very people she had just been wreaking havoc upon. He remembered Mycroft had always taken a liking to her. Once, he had even expressed to Sherlock an interest in having Amy work for him. She was charming, smart, pretty, and knew how to work people. Sherlock was lucky that Amy had never been one for an _actual _job.

Mrs. Hudson started busying herself about the kitchen and Amy leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her face on her hands. Sherlock cleared his throat and put his cup of tea beside him on the end table. Amy sighed. "So, solved a new case?"

"Where's your Doctor?" Sherlock asked almost exactly at the same time.

Both could see that it was awkward between them. They had left on a note where neither had known what they were. That damn sex gas had ruined everything, pushed Amy and Sherlock farther into their relationship than they had initially wanted to go. Before, it had just been flirting and fighting and a kiss or two. Now they were both uncomfortably aware that they were _sexually _attracted to one another. And though Amy and Sherlock had parted on a good note, it still was just… Too soon.

Amy decided to answer her question first, lifting her face from her hands. One hand nervously moved over knee in circles. Sherlock eyed it, his thoughts drifting to a more sexual area, but he realized what he was doing and quickly snapped his attention back. Amy was looking at the floor and nodding. "Um, he kinda…. Left," she said, then looked up to see Sherlock's expression, gentle but also quite curious, like he was deciding whether to be human and ask if she was okay, or to be his usual self and ask her to explain the whole situation in full detail, "I told him to. I just needed a break after… Well, yeah .Anyways, he was supposed to pick me up, and he hasn't yet."

Sherlock studied Amy closely. Experience had taught him that the Doctor leaving Amy always left her completely devastated. This time, it wasn't like that. In fact, she had _asked _him to, and even when he was running late, she wasn't worrying too much. Sherlock decided to address it. "Aren't you afraid he won't come back?"

Amy smirked conspiratorially. She remembered the Doctor's words when they were in a forest full of cyborg trees and deadly angels. "He always comes back."

He quirked his lips and then took another drink of tea. "So, I did finish another case. An easy one, really. It was a-"

"Oh, I already know," Amy interrupted .Sherlock rose a single eyebrow, giving her a questioning look. The redhead smiled. She always loved seeing him confused, especially when she was the one that caused it. "Mary Morstan comes to you with a bunch of mysteriously-sent pearls and the ten-year old case of her missing dad. Turns out he got into an argument with his wealthy army friend, that Sholto guy. He was a captain, yeah?"

"Major, actually," Sherlock corrected, "But who do you-"

"Anyways, the argument gave the old captain a heart attack and killed him. The _major _didn't want anyone to find out his involvement, covered it up, and to ease his guilt, included his dead friend's daughter in the will," Amy continued, then smiled, "But then Sholto dies and his two sons are fighting over whether to clue Mary in. One tries to keep it between the two and ends up dead, while the other was sending her the pearls in the mail. _And _somehow you were able to deduce that it really wasn't the other brother that had killed both his brother for the inheritance, but a one-legged man and his dwarfed accomplice."

"Well, yes," Sherlock explained, "Why would Thomas have killed Bartie for the inheritance if _he _had been the one that was trying to include Mary? And of course, finding out that Major Sholto was deathly afraid of one-legged men was odd and very useful. He was a man of war; he had to have had army friends that suffered such wounds. The real question was _why _Jonathan Small would have killed anyone anyways if he had no claim in the large inheritance either."

"But he did," Amy concluded.

"Yes, he was a mutual friend of Sholto and Morstan. He had been there the night Morstan died and Sholto had promised to pay him off to keep quiet. Sholto put him into the inheritance, but he tricked Smalls. Smalls could only access any sort of money if everyone else in that will was dead. He picked off Bartie, and if we hadn't have figured it out any sooner, he would have targeted Mary and Thomas next. A very easy case, given the fact that the will was proof on its own. There had to have been a reason that Smalls was on the will and the fact that he had to wait for three quite young people to die before him to get any of Sholto's riches was enough evidence to see that he had the best motive," Sherlock paused, "But how do _you _know about the case. The article isn't supposed to be published until tomorrow. Checking up on me from the future?"

Amy laughed. She heard the kettle screaming and Mrs. Hudson going about looking for a mug. "No, being in the future usually involves a lot of running and trying not to die," she replied.

"Amy, how do you like your tea?" Mrs. Hudson called, "And we have all different assortments in here… John does a good job of keeping the tea well-stocked."

"That's because _Sarah _can't bloody make up her mind about which one is her favorite tea and John decides to just _buy them all_," Sherlock shot back, a little grumpy.

Who was Sarah? Amy made a note to herself to ask John about it later. It was obviously a sore subject with Sherlock. "Oh, I'll have green tea," Amy told Mrs. Hudson, smiling over at her, "Two sugars, thanks." She looked back at Sherlock. "I found out from John's blog. He just wrote an entry about it yesterday. 'The Sign of Four' or whatever?"

"John's blog?"

"Yeah, I've been home for a bit and I decided to see what's on there," Amy explained. Mrs. Hudson came over with the tea and a plate of biscuits. The redhead smiled appreciatively. "He talks about living with you and the cases you do, that sort of stuff. Have you _seriously _not read it?"

"I don't have time to look at John's silly, little diary. I know the cases well enough and I know what it's like living with me," Sherlock sniffed, "Besides, I have my own blog which is far more useful-"

"Far more _boring_," Amy said under her breath. Sherlock didn't miss it, narrowing his eyes. She gave a short laugh and shrugged. "Sorry, Sherly, but you're analysis on tobacco ash doesn't beat John talking about how you don't know the _bloody earth revolves around the sun_!"

"He _wrote _about that?!" Sherlock replied. Well, he had to read it now. He had to find out what John was saying about him, what Amy was _reading _about him. He really highly doubted that anyone else was reading that stupid blog of his. Sherlock stood up from his chair and went to his room.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Hudson sighed, her face worried, "Now we've gotten him upset… I should probably go downstairs. Amy, you might want to give him a bit of time."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson," Amy replied, smiling, "I know how to deal with Sherly."

She followed him into the room while Mrs. Hudson walked out of the flat. Amy saw Sherlock was starting up his laptop and opening the internet browser. She sighed and walked over to the desk, turning around and leaning her bottom against it. Amy crossed her arms. "Sherlock-"

"The solar system doesn't matter!" he interrupted, trying to defend himself, "Never once has it mattered in any of my cases!"

Amy smirked. "And I'm guessing not knowing who the prime minister is right now has never helped either?"

"Like you have room to talk," Sherlock shot back, and Amy guessed it was true. She'd met plenty of prime ministers since she began traveling with the Doctor. She'd met Queen Elizabeth X and Winston Churchill. Still, she could see that Sherlock's pride was getting hurt, so she would have to tread carefully.

"Sherlock, leave the blog alone."

"I have to know what it says," Sherlock replied instantly, "What's the URL?"

Amy bit her lip, hesitating, but then Sherlock was looking up at her with his clear blue eyes and she could see there was really no stopping him. If he wanted, he could just _guess _what it was and it would be right. "W-w-w-dot-johnwatsonblog-dot-c-o-dot-u-k."

Sherlock typed it in and found the blog, scrolling down to the first case- "A Study in Pink." He snorted. "What a clever title, John," he said sarcastically, then started scrolling through the post. Amy pressed her lips together and watched Sherlock carefully. He was completely expressionless though.

And that was when they both heard the door open, keys jingling from the knob. It was only one person and the sound of plastic bags must have meant they had groceries with them. "Sherlock?" John's voice called from the front door, "I'm back! I thought we'd have some sort of pasta tonight. Sarah's coming over."

Amy watched a flash of irritation cross Sherlock's face, but he kept on reading.

She scurried out of the room and saw John putting the plastic bags on the table. He looked over and saw Amy, looking confused, but smiled. He walked up and hugged her with one arm. "Hey, Amy," he said, not noticing the slightly guilty expression on her face, "I didn't know you'd be here tonight. Is the Doctor around here somewhere? I guess I can make enough for five tonight, and you can meet-"

"The Doctor's not with me," Amy interrupted. She winced, bending her knees slightly before she just out and came with it, "And I may have mentioned some things from your blog and now Sherlock's reading it…"

"What?" John asked. Amy had been talking fast, but her words were starting to catch up in his head. He started to realize he might be in trouble. Why did everyone have to read his blog? Harry and Bill and Mike were all reading it, commenting on his posts, when really it was supposed to be between John and his therapist. And now _Amy _was reading it, and in effect, _Sherlock_. John was remembering all the times he'd poked fun at Sherlock, called him pompous and brilliant, but also lacking in some real essential information… "Oh, no."

He grabbed his laptop from a bag by the door and pulled it out. Amy watched as he logged into the computer and got on his blog. There was a notification that someone had commented on one of his posts, "A Study in Pink."

_John, I've only just found this post. I've glanced over it and honestly, words fail me. What I do is an exact science and should be treated as such. You've made the whole experience seem like some kind of romantic adventure. You should have focused on my analytical reasoning and nothing more_.

John sighed and looked at Amy wearily. "Great."

"Sorry?" she offered, "I'll pay you back by cooking dinner tonight?"

He didn't say anything for a moment, and they both eyed Sherlock in his room. He must have sense their eyes on him, because he got up without looking at either of them and shut his door. After a bit of rustling, a violin began playing. John looked back at Amy. They both knew Sherlock would stop throwing his fit in a matter of a few hours, at _least _by tomorrow.

"Alright," John told her, taking Amy up on the offer about dinner, "Deal."

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	21. Come to Me, My Sweetest Friend

**I'm actually surprised... That I got this finished in a relatively reasonable amount of time... I mean, I was thinking with it being my first week of college, I'd be busier than ever, but here I am. :P Eh. Maybe the two literature classes and that writing class are kicking my writer's motivation into gear. Who knows? Let's not question it and just enjoy it! :D **

**Let's get down to business and defeat the Hun so we can get to some Pondlock, yeah? And then I can go back on Tumblr and cry over Matt Smith's tag now that he's officially filmed his last episode. ANYWAYS. Reviews. Reviews are nice. Especially with this fan fic because people who review get... SNEAK PEEKS TO THE NEXT CHAPTERS! YAYYYY **

**Also, I know Moffat, Gatiss, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and/or any other BBC execs will not be reading this, but I have to say it anyways... I own nothing in this story. Not Sherlock, not Doctor Who. All them, capische?... CAPISCHE. And I know that this chapter is a lot of dialogue and stuff, but it's setting up for the next couple chapters. If it doesn't make sense to you right now, it will in a little bit. Hopefully.**

**OKAY NOW. ENJOY.**

Sherlock didn't come out of the room at all that night, and it was easy to guess that he was trying to ruin the rest of the night for everyone else outside of his room. When he heard Amy and John bustling about the kitchen, talking and laughing, he started to play the most awful notes on the violin. When he heard Sarah come over and join them, it got even worse. It got even louder, to the point where it was impossible to drown it out and turn it into background noise. Finally, when Sarah said she had work in the morning and better go before she got a migraine, John decided he had had enough.

Sarah had promised to call when she could, but it was clear to both John and Amy that she wasn't really planning to, just saying it to make it less awkward. And they both knew who to blame for it. After that, John had tried to talk to Sherlock, even messaged him on the website about getting milk, hoping it would lure him out. Still, Sherlock refused to open the door, playing on with his music, though now that Sarah was gone, it had improved and was less of a headache. He wouldn't even open up the door for Amy. They both knew he was still very peeved at them.

John had invited Amy to stay the night, offering to take the couch. He was off to the bar to get piss drunk anyways and would probably want to come home and fall asleep on the nearest thing. Amy had declined though. She wanted to be there when the Doctor came back, but she promised to be back soon. Amy called goodbye to Sherlock, but he didn't open the door. He didn't even stop playing the music. Amy sighed and said goodbye to John, heading out the door and got a taxi back to Leadworth. Sherlock came out of the room as soon as she left, not speaking to John. He walked over to the window and watched her get into the car and go down the street.

"She's leaving?" he asked, his tone irritated. John frowned. Out of everyone, Sherlock should be the happiest. He got what he had wanted. He'd ruined John's dinner.

"Well, you haven't exactly been acting like a good host tonight," John replied, "I think Sarah is officially done with me now, so... Thank you, Sherlock."

A confused expression crossed Sherlock's face, but it only stayed there briefly. "It wasn't going to go anywhere anyways," Sherlock stated bluntly, "Sarah isn't over her last ex-boyfriend. I went to her house once, remember? She still has some of his clothes in the closet and his cologne in her medicine cabinet. Not to mention the picture on the fireplace of their romantic weekend in Liverpool. I mean, really, who goes to _Liverpool_ for vacation, anyways/? That's almost as confusing as the fact that _you_ didn't even notice it and you were over there so much?"

John absorbed this information. It didn't make him feel any better, but he knew Sherlock wouldn't care about that. So, instead he addressed the other thing on his mind, tilting his head."What were you doing in her closet?"

"Irrelevant," he sighed, falling onto the couch and waving his arm in the air carelessly. "And let me guess, since you _didn't_ chase down Sarah and you aren't getting back with her, you're now going to go to the bar in hopes that you find a new girl to fill your loneliness, or that you get drunk enough to forget about said loneliness?"

The doctor shook his head and headed to the door, grabbing his keys. "You know, you're a real arse sometimes," he said, "And, besides, it doesn't hurt having a girlfriend, alright? Sometimes, it's nice to have a break from all this. From the violin-playing and the running and solving weird murders and finding a mummified cat in the dishwasher-"

"I _told_ you it was an experiment!" Sherlock defended, "And it was getting euthanized anyways! It was its last day at the pound. It was going to die anyways, at least die in the name of science."

John winced. "Right..."

"And I wasn't judging you for needing companionship," Sherlock continued, "No, most humans need it. The thing is that you found it in Sarah, a woman who clearly wasn't going to stick around for very long. It could be a type, and if it is, it completely contradicts your want to have a companion anyways."

John, frustrated, finally let his anger show. "Yeah?" he asked, "You're lecturing me about women who will only leave me?" His eyes met Sherlock's. The detective sat up slightly on the couch. He looked confused for a moment, but John saw the little bit of fear in his eyes that showed he was already guessing what he was going to bring up. "Let's talk about _you_, Sherlock."

"I don't know what you're talking about-"

"You claim you're married to your job and you show absolutely _no_ interest in any man or woman that I've seen you with," John said, fully facing his friend now, "The first time I see you with Amy Pond, you're actually _hugging_ her! _You_! Of all people, _hugging someone_!"

"_She_ hugged _me_," Sherlock corrected.

"And you let her! And I don't care what you say about the sex pollen, there was a part of you that actually thoroughly enjoyed that," he argued, "Face it, Sherlock. You have feelings for Amy. I know you do, and so do you, you're just too stubborn to admit them. The _only_ reason you're _really _upset tonight is not the fact that I said anything about you on my blog, but that _Amy_ saw it. You care about what she thinks."

"John, you're being-"

"Do not lecture me on _my_ relationships," John said with finality, opening the door behind him, his eyes still locked on Sherlock, "Not when you're in love with a girl who constantly leaves you for another man to go _flying up in bloody space in a damn phone box_!"

With that, he stormed out and headed to a bar. He was angry, angry that Sherlock had ended his relationship with Sarah, angry that he had pointed out she was never really in love with him anyways. He was just mad at the whole mess.

* * *

><p>The Doctor still hadn't shown up. At this point, Amy was beyond irritated. It had been almost a month since she had been to Sherlock's, since she told him about the blog. She hadn't gone back over, though John texted her his apologies about his behavior. Amy had replied and told him shewas used to it. After all, he used to babysit her. Also, it was kind of her fault that all of it started. She had passed her time working again as a kissogram. It was enough to pay the the bills, even if the Doctor looked down on it. If he didn't want her to be working that job, then he should pick her up on time so she didn't have the bills to deal with. She hung out with Mels again, who was still causing trouble. She listened intently to all of Amy's stories about the Doctor, the new adventures they had had. Mels ate it up like she always did, eager to hear more, never once doubting his existence.<p>

There was something though... She brought up a "Rory." Amy felt confused by the name. It was so familiar, and it made her really sad... Mels dropped it with one look at Amy. She seemed to get nervous after that. Mels left, saying she had to go because she was getting some job interview the next morning. Amy had laughed softly to herself when her friend left. Mels with a job interview? Was she really that eager to get away that she couldn't even think of a good excuse.

After Mels had stopped being an option, she threw herself into her work. Dressing up in the outfits, pretending to be someone else, it distracted her from the fact that her Raggedy Man wasn't back yet. And then, one day, Amy got a text. It was from John.

_**Text Message **_  
><em><strong>From: John W. <strong>_  
><em><strong>Message: <strong>_

_**Amy if you're still around, do you think you can stop by? Sherlock's driving me crazy and I think you're the one of the few that really knows how to shut him up.**_

Amy stared at the message for a while. Well, now that she had been invited... And she /was/ pretty bored. Not to mention, she had this week off... Amy wrote a reply.

_**Reply**_  
><em><strong>To: John W.<strong>_  
><em><strong>Message: <strong>_

_**Fine. But you owe me one, Watson.**_

She didn't admit that she was actually really glad he had texted her to come over. No, she was Amy Pond, and Amy Pond was never doing anything boring at all!

* * *

><p>"I hate you. And John. I should have stayed home," Amy muttered.<p>

It was early October and the air was turning cold and crisp. It bit at Amy's nose and cheeks. She tried to huddle into her own body as much as she could to keep warm. Her thick coat did what it could, but it didn't block out her face or her neck or her legs. Amy really did blame John for this. Therewas no fun mystery to solve when she came over. In fact, they hadn't had a case since she had been over the last time. They had completely run dry. Which was why she had been called. The boredom had driven Sherlock to near madness and John said he needed a break. Especially after Sherlock ended /another/ one of John's relationships. For tonight, he was off having his first date with this girl named Lisa, who wouldn't stop talking about her dog. Amy didn't say anything though, letting John figure that relationship out for itself. And they both hoped that in keeping Lisa away, Sherlock would have to do the same. "I'm going to freeze to death out here."

"No, it's not cold enough to freeze to death," Sherlock replied absent-mindedly. He then turned his head and looked at Amy. He frowned. "Well of course you're cold," he told her, looking her outfit over. "You should stop wearing those mini-skirts for one, and invest in a scarf."

Amy rolled her eyes. "I'll switch from skirt to scarf when my legs stop looking this good," she teased, "And I can't believe it's taken you /three weeks/ to get the bloody milk already."

"John refused to get it and drinking tea helps me think," he said, "I got tired of drinking it without the milk though."

"But _three weeks_?" Amy repeated.

"I've been busy!"

"Pfft, that's not what I've heard," she said under her breath. Sherlock pressed his lips together, pretending not to have heard that.

When they reached the store, Amy grabbed a basket and the two got into an argument, Sherlock insisting that they were only here for milk, but Amy arguing back that she might want something. Then Sherlock told her she needed to stop spending her money when they had food at the house, and Amy shot back that they _didn't_ have candy, and since it was near Halloween, they had good deals. She also mentioned the fact that she was an adult that could spend her own money as she liked. That was when Molly ran into them.

"Oh!" the small woman laughed nervously. She glanced from Sherlock to Amy. "I- I _thought_ I had heard you two."

Amy turned her attention from Sherlock to Molly, her glare turning into a smile. "Hey, Molly. How've you been?"

"Good! Really good!" she said, smiling back, "How about yourself, Amy?"

"Are we really doing this right now?" Sherlock groaned. The two women looked at him as he tilted his head back slightly in frustration and boredom. "We're here for milk, not for candy, and certainly not to have completely mundane conversations with Molly Hooper."

Molly opened her mouth nervously, looking down. "Uh, right," she muttered, "Sorry, you two. I should have known not to interrupt you two. I mean, it's not like I don't see either of you a lot, what with you helping Sherlock and Sherlock always having a case. Except for recently, but that's because we haven't had many serial killers lately. Funny. You'd think that around Halloween, there'd be much more-"

Sherlock made a noise in his throat. Molly caught the roll of his eyes. "Right. Sorry. I'll get going."

Amy frowned. She looked at Sherlock, trying to glare at him again, but he was looking at Molly with a pleasant nod,urging her to move along. Amy looked back at the brunette. "No, hold on," she said, "You don't need to apologize about anything-"

"No, I just- I should have known you would be busy doing your own things," Molly shrugged, "It wasn't professional of me to come over here and talk to you outside of the workplace. I just... Hadn't seen either of you for a while. So I thought it'd be nice to say hi... My mistake."

"Molly-" Amy started.

"Well, it was _lovely _seeing you," Sherlock said quickly, smiling and waving, "Happy shoppings, Dr. Hooper." Molly got the message and smiled at them one last time, but Amy saw it falter. Her frown deepened as Molly walked away. Amy stared at Sherlock, but he either didn't notice or didn't care enough to show that he had. He instead started walking towards the aisle with the milk and eggs and butter. Amy didn't say anything, following behind him. She wasn't going to make a scene in the grocery store, but she _certainly_ was going to talk to this idiot.

Once Sherlock had gotten the milk, he started walking towards the front of the store. He looked back at Amy, who followed a little bit behind him. "You're obviously upset," he sighed, "Fine. Go get some of your stupid candy. The Halloween aisle is in Aisle 8. You really shouldn't be having all that sugar though."

Amy couldn't even answer him. _This_ coming from the guy that didn't even _eat_ for days on end was telling _her_ to have a more nutritional diet. This only added to the anger, and afraid that she would explode right there, Amy just stayed quiet.

Sherlock shook his head and sighed. "Never cease to surprise me," he muttered as they continued to the self-check-out machines, "I never took you for the kind of woman that does the 'silent treatment.'"

"No, that's how _you _deal with things," Amy said under her breath.

She didn't talk for the rest of the time they were in the store and then for half the walk. Sherlock meanwhile, had decided that he hated the silent treatment. He just wanted to know what she was angry about. It couldn't possibly be about cookies. He had /said/ she could get some. The question was starting to burn on his tongue. Amy, seeing this, smirked and decided this might be her way to pay him back for how he had treated his friends tonight. Finally, when they were almost to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock blurted it out.

"Can you just tell me what's wrong?" he cried, stopping in his tracks and looking at her. Amy looked at him blankly, blinking. "We both know you can't keep that mouth of yours shut for more than five minutes unless you're doing it on purpose, so just tell me. Because I _don't_ understand."

Amy took a moment. She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet before meeting Sherlock's blue eyes. "What's wrong with you, Sherly?" she asked finally, "Why are you being _such_ an arse tonight? It can't _seriously _be about the blog, can it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I'm talking about you breaking up John and his girlfriend!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned around in a small circle, laughing humorlessly. "We're still _on_ that?" he asked, "I told you! I was saving him time!"

"I'm not even talking about Sarah!" Amy yelled, "His last one?"

"Oh_ she_ had weird spots on her!" Sherlock argued, "Beauty marks and freckles everywhere! What if she got a serious skin cancer and died? _I _saved him from that!"

"You're ridiculous!" Amy shot back. She took a step closer. "So what about Molly? How were you helping _her_?"

"Molly?" Sherlock repeated, confused, "What the hell did I do to Molly? I barely spoke to her in the store."

"Exactly!" Amy replied, exasperated, "She's _in love_ with you, Sherlock! And you just walk all over her! You're sweet to her when you want something, but when she's no use to you, you treat her like a piece of garbage! And she _lets_ you!"

Sherlock frowned deeply. He knew it was true. He always had. Sherlock had always thought of it as a tool, really. Molly's obvious infatuation with him made it easier to manipulate her. "Molly is an intelligent girl," he said in a calm voice, "She's _infatuated_, and that is it. Soon, it'll go away and she'll realize that I can't return those feelings for her, or anyone."

"You can feel those things," she argued, crossing her arms, "I know you can." Amy knew he was lying. Their first kiss in that? That showed quite some courage to outright snog the kissogram at your birthday party in front of people who don't know her. And the time when they were standing in the living room was _just _as filled with passion. Of course, the incident with the sex gas was weird. Because some of it was the gas, the sex alien didn't necessarily count. Amy didn't know where it was that she had began or where the gas ended. It was confusing, and Sherlock being under her spell hadn't worked right either, because she couldn't tell if _his _feelings were genuine.

The consulting detective shook his head. "No," he said, "No, I'm a sociopath. We really lack feelings most of the time."

Amy pursed her lips. She could see that Sherlock was... Troubled. She would say _pained_, but then Amy couldn't possibly think of what he would be afraid of. She sighed. "Shut up. You have feelings," she said. He looked at her, seeing that Amy didn't look so angry anymore, and he straightened a bit, like a bit of the weight on his shoulders had lifted. Sherlock enjoyed arguing with people, yes, but he was still affected by what had been said by John in their argument the night he had holed himself up in his room.

He smirked slightly. "I'm..." he struggled with the words, frowning. Amy looked at him curiously. Finally, Sherlock was able to spit it out. "I'm sorry."

The smug look on her face made Sherlock want to take it all back. Amy smiled and took his hand. "Don't apologize to _me_, Sherly," she said, tilting her nose up in the air and looking at him with mock disapproval, "John and Molly. Apologize to them, and _then _I can forgive you."

"But I thought you said I didn't have to ap-" He caught her look and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Now can we go inside? Your legs are starting to look blue."

She stuck out her tongue. "Stop checking them out then, Holmes."

Sherlock shook his head and opened the door, pulling on Amy's hand to get her inside. As he brought her in, Amy thought she heard a noise, a loud click. She turned around and looked out at the dark street. Before the door closed, she was able to see who was standing out there. A man with a camera. He had been wearing mittens and had a knit cap on his head. He seemed as if he was bald, older, older than Sherlock by maybe ten years or so...

Sherlock pulled her up the stairs and then fumbled with the next lock. Amy stood there beside him, blinking, her eyes trained on the door as though she would be able to see through it if she looked at it long enough, and find that cameraman still standing in the same spot. Who was he anyways? Should she tell Sherlock? The redhead bit her lip, then closed the door andcheaded upstairs. There was no reason to worry. Sherlock even said that John's blog was giving them a bit more fame. It was probably just a photographer for some newspaper or something. Maybe a fan... Right?

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**Oh, and in reply to...**

**Guest: Yeah... The Doctor doesn't even have the "The engines were re-phasing!" excuse anymore lol. **

**Alikai: Thanks! I'm really glad you're liking what I've written, and I hope you and all my other readers like what I put up next. I'm currently trying to figure out Irene Adler and her place in this, so... We'll see with her. xD**


	22. Many Days Fell Away

**Hey guys! If you saw my author's note, you'll know why I took such a long time to post. My laptop was stolen. -_- But no worries, because I have a new one! Like I said in my note (which I'm deleting as soon as I have this put up), I'm going to try to update faster, though the chapters may get shorter. I'm in college right now and seeking a job, so I won't have a lot of free time BUT I want to finish this all up for you guys! For the ones that are still here, you've been so patient and so great! So I'm going to try and finish this as fast as I can, while still doing the full story line that I have planned for this. If you're a Sherlock fan though, I'm sure you're used to waiting :P Yay for Season Three right? I haven't watched the finale yet but I'll probably do that sometime this week! **

**Just a reminder. I don't own anything. All characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC. Also, I send sneak peeks to readers that send in a review, though for the ones that sent in reviews on the last chapter... Do not fret! You're going to be getting one anyways, whether you send in another review or not! **

**Thanks for hanging around, guys! Enjoy!**

It had been three weeks since Amy first came back to Baker Street, and it was like things were falling into a nice routine. The Doctor had yet to return, so she spent most of her time with John and Sherlock, so much so that the crime-solving duo was starting to look more like… A _trio_. An idea that would have seemed impossible to Sherlock Holmes if someone had proposed the idea to him just a month before. They sat in the apartment together, went out to the pubs, interviewed clients, and even solved a few crimes in the meantime. It was no longer just John and Sherlock, and though everyone would have thought throwing a woman into the mix would have made it all go askew, Amy seemed to fit in perfectly.

Of course, Amy wasn't living with them. It was only a two-bedroom flat after all, and things were already cramped as it was. She spent plenty of time over there, but if Amy stayed too late to go back to Leadworth by herself (which she often did), she spent the night with Mels, who had her own apartment as well. Mels was always out partying or committing crimes though, so it felt more like renting her own hotel room. Minus paying for it all and everything.

"So… Why are you doing that?" Amy frowned, leaning against her elbow on the kitchen counter. Her expression was part bored and part disgusted as she watched Sherlock slowly roast an eyeball with a blowtorch.

"I'm recording how each organ reacts to extreme heat and flames," Sherlock replied studying the eyeball closely. He paused his activity for a moment, his head turning minutely towards Amy. Quickly, he put down the blowtorch and opened a drawer, tossing her a pair of safety goggles that matched his own. "Safety precaution."

Amy smiled, putting it on. "Oh, Sherly, you _care_," she teased.

"Don't distract me. I'm busy," he quipped, picking the blowtorch back up and continuing with the roasting.

"Oh, Sherly, you find me _distracting_," Amy continued in the same voice as before.

Sherlock stopped and set the blowtorch down. "Amelia Pond, do I have to throw you out of this flat to get my work done?"

She pressed her lips together and tilted her head as if in pensive thought. Amy gave a quick look at his arms. "I don't know," she replied, "Can you, Mr. Lean-Body?"

"I could," Sherlock argued, accidentally releasing the eye from his prongs. It landed straight in his tea, though it didn't phase the consulting detective. "Every human has muscle. And when you get an adrenaline rush, say from being angry at a_ certain_ distraction, the definition of said muscles does not matter."

"Now, now, children," John sighed, walking into the room with his laptop in hand, "What did I say about fighting?" He eyed the blowtorch. "Especially around things that produce flames..."

Amy looked and grinned, throwing her arms around the shorter man. "John!" she exclaimed, "You're back!" He hugged back a little more nervously, chuckling softly.

"John was gone?" Sherlock asked, confused. He took a drink of his tea, forgetting about the eyeball. Amy hadn't, and grimaced. Sherlock looked at her, then back down at his cup as he realized why she was turning green. "Oh…"

"You're_ disgusting_!"

Sherlock shrugged. "It tasted surprisingly okay…"

"Oh my God!" Amy couldn't believe her mouth had ever been on his in that moment.

John looked at the two, not understanding what was going on. "Am I missing something…?"

Sherlock waved him off. "Never mind, John," he said, "We have a case, if you don't remember. So, if you're done running your errands, do you think you can make that trip to Surrey that we talked about?"

Silence filled the air, Amy and John both watching the consulting detective in slight disbelief, and both waiting for him to realize the error of his ways.. Sherlock went to take another drink of his tea before Amy stopped him, taking it away and throwing it in the sink. Sherlock frowned. "You wasted perfectly good tea…"

"Sherlock, I was in Surrey for _two days_," John said, staying on point, "That's where I've been."

"Oh, well then. What did you find?"

They were talking about their newest case. It had only been a week ago that Violet Smith sat on their couch. Sherlock had been able to guess from her plain clothing that she was lower-middle-class, yet her handbag was very new and, if Sherlock was remembering designers correctly, very expensive. Either she loved her handbags enough so that it cost her too much to spend on anything else, or she was obviously new to the recent inflow of money, new enough not to have updated her wardrobe yet. She had a London accent, so Sherlock could only assume she was from here. She also had a nervous habit of tucking her brown hair behind her ear and saying "Um" every five words, but Amy and John had said it was just because Sherlock had an intimidating air about him. He's still not sure if he believes it or not. Sherlock was also able to surmise from the dark circles under Violet's eyes that she was very stressed and tired. She also smelled like a hospital, meaning she worked in one or had a relative in one. Sherlock didn't see her being a nurse though. She had musical note earrings. That just didn't seem right for a nurse.

And, of course, he was right. Violet Smith was in fact a private piano teacher. Her father had just died a few months earlier, leaving her alone to support her mother, who was diagnosed with cancer two years before. Violet needed a job to pay for the chemo treatments and was able to find work with a man named James Carruthers, who had somehow found her and asked about teaching his young daughter how to play the piano. Seeing as it was in Surrey and Violet lived in London, she had to move to a new apartment with her mother, and also involved her still driving to London for the doctor's visits. This was all okay though, because Carruthers was paying her almost double the hourly wage that most highly-experienced music teachers earned. This was also quite suspicious to Sherlock, but he didn't say anything about it, letting Violet continue on about the mysterious bicyclist that had started to follow her around. He would follow her when she left work, all the way to her apartment. He would also wait outside her flat, watching until late in the night, when he'd leave again. Of course, she was asked if she had any admirers, but the only person she could come up with was an Adam Woodley, the ex-brother-in-law of her employer's. Violet told the detectives all about how he had tried to woo and seduce her, and how he grew angry as she continually rejected him, resulting in him trying to rape her and getting kicked out of Carruthers' home when he was caught. Violet told them that was right when the biker started to follow her, and that all she knew was that he wore sunglasses and had a large beard, one that Woodley didn't have. The biker always stayed far enough away so that she couldn't see him clearly enough, and he always vanished right when she wasn't looking.

It wasn't the most interesting of cases that Sherlock had done. There was definitely no sign of murder, but the only other two emails were useless, easy cases. One about a girl that had lost her dog, and another from a man claiming he had an invisible girlfriend. Obviously this bike stalker was the cream of the crap crop, and so Sherlock had sent John to scope out the situation and gather intel.

"Yeah, I didn't get anything," John said, shaking his head.

Sherlock stared at him a long moment. "You've been gone for two days and you didn't get a single thing?" he asked, "Honestly, John. Even Amelia could do better than that!"

"Hey!" Amy protested from the sidelines, busy making new, uncontaminated tea.

John sighed. "Look, I tried," he said, "I followed Violet home from work one night, and I saw the bicyclist, but-"

"But?" Sherlock interrupted.

The doctor glared at him. "But it was foggy and he was _on a bike_! I couldn't very well catch up to him on foot!" Sherlock sighed, but John went on. "I was able to see him long enough to find out that he disappeared right behind the pub that's down the street from her house. I talked to Violet about it, and she said that she was only able to chase him that far too, before he disappears."

Sherlock pressed his lips together, his fingers tucked under his chin in thought. "Well, we can hardly solve a case with that much information…" Sherlock said, trying to think of a new plan. Well, John had had his crack at it. Time for a new pair of fresh eyes. Or why not two? "Amelia, go home and pack some bags. We're leaving for Surrey tomorrow morning. 8 o'clock, and for God's sake, wear some decent clothing."

As Amy started to react, John made sure to leave the kitchen... With the blowtorch.

**Subscribe. Favorite. Review. Or I'll tell Molly to get me the riding crop. **


	23. Don't Even Have to Ask Twice

**Hello, everyone! Hope I didn't take too long. I was a little busy with school. Two weeks in, and I already hate my writing class. How ironic, seeing as I'm majoring in Creative Writing. BUT WHATEVER. LET'S GO TO MORE OPTIMISTIC THINGS. LIKE THAT THERE'S A NEW CHAPTER.**

**I'm keeping to my word and trying to get stories out faster than usual. I'm hoping that I get at least two chapters done per month. This one actually wasn't short, which I wasn't expecting so. Yay for normalcy. **

**Remember to send in a review to get a sneak peek! Also remember that I own absolutely nothing at all. Not even this plot line, haha. This is based off "The Solitary Cyclist" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, though like Moffat and Gatiss, I'm tweaking it a bit. Hope you enjoy! **

The trip was definitely unexpected, but Amy liked it. She just hoped the Doctor didn't come back while she was away. Of course, he probably would. Shit timing was kind of his thing. Sherlock had insisted that he drive. He'd seen Amy drive and told her he refused to die such a simplistic death as in a car crash. Which only made her wonder what sort of death Sherlock _did _want. She started blaring the music before she could even wonder what _she _wanted. Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to bring up grim questions on what she'd imagined was going to be a fun road trip.

In reality, it was one of the longest drives ever, and there were a few times where either one of them wanted to jump out of the car while it was still moving. Sherlock hated the music she put, and each time turned it off just to have her turn it back on. He said he had to focus and Amy's loud, crappy music was distracting him. He didn't like the windows rolled down either, and gave Amy odd looks whenever she stuck her head out of it and screamed into the strong winds. He also thought her tradition of holding her breath, closing her eyes, and making a wish every time they entered a tunnel was silly and judged her for it repeatedly. "_This _is why you don't drive," he would say, "No doubt you'd have your eyes shut and we'd die in a bloody tunnel." Still with her eyes squeezed shut and her breath held in, Amy managed to punch Sherlock as her comeback. Then she'd make a wish that he would lose his voice for the rest of their time in the blasted car.

Violet, their client, lived in a small apartment, so she couldn't very well house the two. But her boss, James Carruthers, had offered to as soon as he heard what Amy and Sherlock were there for. Sherlock could tell the man was wealthy, from the suit he wore, to the large home he had. Not to mention how spoiled his daughter was. She had more toys than Sherlock and Mycroft had had as children combined. Then again, they weren't really ones for toys. Mycroft just liked to play Monopoly and Operation all the time, while Sherlock was forever stuck on playing pretend pirate adventures.

The Carruthers estate was very old-looking. The three-story mansion was made of bricks, with white columns that matched the front door and windows. All of it had gentle tendrils of ivy curving around the structure. The front gardens were well-kept, but they had that overgrown look that made Sherlock think that these plants had been here for quite a while, taken care of by a hired gardener. The driveway definitely needed to be redone, and the fountain could probably be replaced, seeing as the stone baby cherub was starting to show signs of erosion from years of being in the rain. Sherlock wondered why Mr. Carruthers hadn't taken care of this yet. If he had enough funds to overpay his daughter's piano teacher by so much, why didn't he take care of things like home maintenance? It was something that the consulting detective filed into his mind palace.

Meanwhile, Amy was just amazed by the largeness and grandeur of the home. Of course, it was no TARDIS, but still. "This place is amazing," Amy murmured as Violet led them into the front doors, where Carruthers stood.

"Thank you, Miss Pond," the owner smiled, holding his hand out, "Violet tells me you go by Amy, right? You can call me James."

Sherlock never cared for pleasantries. They were boring. Not to mention, he was busy studying the interior of the place. It was just as old on the inside. The furniture was antique, the style hinting that it was manufactured in the early twentieth century. It could be said that they were merely copies, but the age of the sofa and love seats that he could see in the living room showed were clear. Sherlock thought it was safe to assume that they were all in fact from that time. _Why not buy new furniture_? he thought. James didn't look like a man of old tastes. He was dressed as modern as anyone else. Dark jeans, a black button-down shirt… Nice shoes, but not a big brand that most people of his status would be wearing. He was clearly in his late 30s, a few gray strands in his brown, disarrayed mop of hair evident if Sherlock focused enough. His skin also seemed to have that look that older people got when they had too much sun. Recent vacation? Another note added to the mind palace.

He heard James laugh. "Already reading me, Mr. Holmes?" he asked, then nodded his head in Violet's direction, "Violet told me what you can do. Knowing a person's whole life with one glance? She's obsessed with your roommate's blog."

Violet blushed slightly, laughing lightly. "He's a great writer."

Sherlock shrugged. "If you like silly, exaggerated, romantic versions of what actually happened, then yes. I suppose he is." James and Violet stared at him, their smiles faltering a bit. Amy shrugged at them, while Sherlock just ignored them, going back to the business at hand. "Violet tells us you have a daughter. Where is she?"

"School," James answered, then checked his watch. Sherlock eyed it suspiciously. A knock-off. "I actually have to go pick her up pretty soon."

"Oh, I can do it!" Violet volunteered, smiling, "You get them settled in. They've already got all the information I've got. Might want a fresh new take, right?" She looked at Amy and Sherlock for an answer, to which Amy nodded.

James looked at his employee hesitantly. Sherlock detected nervousness from the way his fingers started to fidget with the cuffs of his sleeves. "I don't know, Vi," he replied slowly, "I mean, with that creep out there…"

"I'll be fine!" she told him, "I only ever find him following me after dark."

He still looked unsure, but reached into his front jeans pocket, handing them over to her. "Fine, but take my car, will you?" he asked, "Just to be safe."

Violet smiled at him and took the keys, heading towards the door. "I'll be right back," she told them, "See you in a bit… And thank you so much, by the way."

The three watched her go. As the door shut, Amy and Sherlock turned their attention back to James. Sherlock didn't say anything, just studying the man closely. Amy looked between them, seeing that James was nervous again. To clear the awkwardness out of the air, she cleared her throat. "Anyways, so James," she said, trying to think of a question to ask on the spot, "Do you know anyone that would be following Violet? Bitter ex-boyfriends, maybe?"

"I don't know…"

"What about Adam Woodley?" she asked, "Violet said something about him. He's your brother, yeah?"

"Brother-in-law," Sherlock corrected .

"_Ex_-brother-in-law," James said, "My wife, Ellen, died some time ago, when Janie was just a baby. Car accident. I don't very much like her family. They never really liked me either, but… For the sake of my daughter, I keep them around her. They're not bad folks or anything. We just disagree on a lot of things."

"Like?" Amy continued.

"Like letting Janie come live with them," he said, "They're under the impression that I'm living some playboy life. If only they knew I'm too busy trying to save my law firm to have anything close to a social life." James chuckled softly. "I suppose it's not their fault though. I let Janie stay with her grandparents for a while while I was away on business. She's a little girl that's easy to fall in love with."

Sherlock paused for a moment, before asking bluntly, "You say your business is failing, Mr. Carruthers," he said, "But with the wages you're paying Violet, I'd assume differently. How much _do _you actually make?"

Amy groaned. "Sherlock, you don't just ask something like that!" She looked at James. "You don't have to answer that."

"It's _important_," Sherlock argued with her.

James broke in, sensing that a brawl was going to happen between the two. "I-It's fine," he said, "I… Well, I usually make quite a lot, but my business is taking a turn for the worse. When I hired Violet, I was in a better position, and I just… Don't know how to lower it without seeming like a prick, you know? Especially with her mum and now this stalker."

_Liar_. Sherlock could tell he wasn't telling the truth, but smiled. Fine. Let James believe he believed him. Now that Sherlock knew he was clearly hiding something, they now had at least _something _of a lead in this case, which was much better than what John had come back with. "I see," he replied, then looked back over at Amy, "See, Amelia? How difficult was that?"

"You're an idiot," Amy scoffed, looking away from him.

James watched the two for a brief moment, laughing weakly. "Uh, well," he said, gesturing upstairs. "Why don't I show you to your rooms, then? I didn't know if you two were… Together or not, and Violet didn't either. So I just prepared two."

Amy exhaled loudly. "Thank God," she replied tiredly, then looked at Sherlock and smiled sweetly, "If not, Sherly here was going to have to sleep on the floor."

"Yeah… No," Sherlock replied. The two grabbed their bags and followed James up the stairs, their host talking about the schedule of the house, and talking about their rooms amenities. Sherlock walked beside Amy and murmured to her. "I think I have a lead already. We're going to have to catch this cyclist though, before we're able to figure anything else out. Get ready for a stakeout tonight. Outside Violet's flat."

* * *

><p>They had made the excuse that Amy wanted to check out some of the nightlife, so they would be out after supper. And of course, Sherlock had to go and make sure she didn't get into some bar brawl. Amy really wished that was what they were doing right now, but instead they were sitting in a small car just outside Violet's flat. Amy had binoculars ready. Violet should be showing up at any moment, and hopefully, the bicyclist would be there too.<p>

"How can you already think that it's James?" Amy asked.

Sherlock took his own binoculars and peered into the distance. It was just a bit foggy, which would cause some difficulty. That had apparently been John's issue, but Sherlock didn't think it was bad enough to hinder the case. "Because he lied about his money issues," he said, "Why does he pay his daughter's piano instructor high wages when he can't even afford new furniture or home repairs? He's clearly running on inheritance money. That house is old, and so is the Carruthers sign on the front gate. I'm assuming the home has been with the family since the day it was built. I just don't know if all that money has survived the lineage."

"What, so he's going after a poor music teacher that can barely afford to pay her mother's hospital costs?"

"That's what's so curious…" Sherlock replied, "Why _her_?"

Amy pressed her lips together and shrugged. "I think he fancies her," she said simply.

"What? Where the hell did you get _that _from?"

Amy turned and looked at Sherlock. "He pays attention to every single word she says, makes sure to remember it too. Something most men don't do," she replied, "He gets nervous around her, and he trusts her so much that he'll hand over his car keys just to keep her away from some creepy stalker. He cares about her safety. Not to mention, he kicked out his own ex-brother-in-law, a guy he's known for years, for her. She's got to mean _something _to him, you know?"

Sherlock remained silent. He wasn't really one to talk about those things. It was still rather an odd topic for him. Instead, he stared out into the thin fog, seeing a figure walking him quickly. He could tell by the way her shoulders slumped, and also by the shape of the bag hanging off her right arm, that it was Violet. "Here we go," he said, perking up.

"Does she know we're staked out here?" Amy asked.

"Nope. Now be quiet."

They watched as Violet's shape and figure got clearer and clearer as she drew closer. She was scared, they could tell. She kept turning around to look behind her. They couldn't tell if she could actually see someone. Not until she was just a few feet away from them, turning back again. This time she froze, holding her bag close to her for something to hold onto. Violet shook and yelled something. "Leave me alone!" she cried, the sound quieted by the windows. Sherlock and Amy ducked down. "Do you hear me?! _Leave me alone_!"

They listened to her fast footsteps and the slamming of her front door as Violet ran inside. "Time to chase a bicyclist," Sherlock whispered, then sat up, quickly twisting the key into the ignition. The car's headlights turned on, and Amy gasped as they saw him, the man on the bike, standing in the distance amidst the fog. He was too far though. They could only make out his shape, not his face.

"Drive!" Amy yelled excitedly, the adrenaline from the beginning of the chase getting to her. Sherlock stepped on the pedal, but the lights had given them away. The bicylist started to get back on his seat. By the time that Sherlock and Amy were revving up and starting to move, the mysterious man had already started to begin pedalling. Sherlock went faster. "Don't hit him!" Amy told him, "Just get close enough to see him!"

Sherlock knew she was right. He didn't think Lestrade would be too happy in learning that his consulting detective had accidentally killed someone in Surrey. They neared the bicyclist. He had a helmet on and a bulky coat, hiding his body shape and hair, but they could see a thick, black beard. Amy poked her head out of the window. "Oi! You! Stop there!"

"Because he's going to listen to us!" Sherlock said, just as the cyclist turned down an alley, "Dammit. I have to go around." He had studied the street maps while they had waited for supper to be ready, and Sherlock knew that it would if he made the next two lefts, he could meet up with the cyclist. He drove as fast as he could, swerving and earning a few honked horns as he swerved through oncoming traffic.

Again, they found the cyclist, but his face was still turned away from them. Sherlock pushed the pedal down further. The cyclist pumped his legs faster, then suddenly made a turn into the car. Sherlock swerved, trying to avoid hitting him and punched on the breaks, causing him and Amy to lurch forward. Instinctively, Sherlock reached over and put an arm over Amy, trying to protect her from hitting the dashboard of the car. Cars behind him swerved as well, honking and hurling insults at the craziness of his driving. Sherlock didn't ask if Amy was alright. He knew she was. "Where'd he go?" he asked her instead.

She swallowed, still in a bit of shock. "Right," she said, "At the stop light."

Sherlock followed her orders, trying to speed up again. When they made the turn, they could barely make him out in the distance. He made another right turn, but this time it was in a parking lot. Amy and Sherlock got to it less than a minute later. It was a pub, _Good Times_. Sherlock got out of the car, Amy following him as they ran through the small parking lot. It was all fenced in, yet they couldn't see the bicyclist or what he had been riding. "Check inside the bar," Sherlock told her, and they both quickly ran in. It was the only place he could be, right?

The two burst in, getting stares from the drunkards taking up the place. Amy earned a few cat calls, but they ignored them. Sherlock checked the men's bathroom, just as Amy checked the woman's. Sherlock ran to the bartender. "Did you see a man on a bike come through here?" he asked.

The bartender was in his 50s. His hair was graying and his skin starting to wrinkle. His grey eyes looked at Sherlock strangely. "Erm, no?"

Sherlock slammed his hand onto the bar. Amy put her hands on both her hips, catching her breath from the excitement. "Dammit!" Sherlock muttered, then looked back at Amy, "John said the same thing. He disappears at this pub."

"So what do we do?" she asked, still a bit out of breath.

Sherlock looked around the pub with its low lighting, grubby patrons, and filthy, manly feel to it. Calendars of barely-clothed women were hung up on the brown, wooden walls, a dart board on the opposite side next to the pool table, and an area for dancing with tables surrounding it. He frowned. "Looks like we really _will _be checking out the nightlife here," he finally answered, "Get back in the car, Amelia. This isn't over yet."

His interest was starting to pique, this case more than just a creepy stalker. He was a _clever_, creepy stalker. Because how the hell had a man on a bike been able to escape an enclosed parking lot unseen? Sherlock hoped he'd find out the next night, where he just might catch the Solitary Cyclist.

** BWholock: Hi! I tried to message you, but your inbox isn't open. As for a Roselock story, I don't think I'll be writing one. I don't have much experience with the ship, and well, I'm just not a big fan of Rose Tyler (please don't shoot me Rose fans, okay?). Thank you though! For both the review and the compliments. Hope you continue to enjoy _Never A Dull Moment_! **

**Subscribe. Favorite. Review. Or I'll pee in your fireplace.**


	24. When I'm Just Kicking Back with You

**Hello, all! **

**I'm going to keep the A/N short this time 'round! So, let's just skip right to disclaimers, shall we? I don't own anything. Not a thing... Wait... Yeah. No. Nothing. Also, a reminder that if you review you get a sneak peek(: Just make sure to do it on this chapter so I know you're caught up and everything, alright? I'd hate to spoil stuff by sending you a chapter you're not ready for. **

**Midterms are coming up, so I probably won't be updating TOO soon? Just because of studying, test-taking, and overall exhaustion. Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!**

"Observe everything," Sherlock said, his eyes scanning the pub. It was like most pubs. Dim lighting, loud, crappy music that of course Amy liked, and the air filled with the odor of smelly men and stale beer. And while Amy wrinkled her nose at some of the dirty inhabitants at the bar, Sherlock took it all in, not really caring about the lack of hygiene here.

"I don't even know what we're looking for," Amy sighed, turning around and leaning her elbows on the bar's countertop. She tried not to think about how dirty it must be and thanked her lucky stars that her leather jacket was mostly protecting her from it. "It's not like he's going to ride in here and order a pint on his bike." Sherlock rolled his eyes, not even turning to looking at her. Amy continued. "Speaking of, I think I'll have a pint myself. Oi, bartender!"

Sherlock pressed his lips into a fine line. He wasn't much of a drinker, and he never did it while he was on a case. It dulled his senses, which was vital when Sherlock was trying to observe something. Amy saw the look but chose not to care, smiling gratefully at the bartender. As she reached into her small bag to pay, a man a few seats away from her gave her what he probably thought was a charming smile, but was really just sly-looking and creepy. "Don't you worry about it, Miss," he said, giving her a wink before he turned back to the bartender, "Just put that on my tab, Tom. And anything else the lovely lady orders tonight."

Amy smiled flirtatiously. Despite the slimy smile, he wasn't that bad-looking, green eyes, blonde hair slicked back, a little bit of manly stubble. He was a tad muscular. Not a total beefcake, but not so scrawny as her Doctor or Sherlock. Not that Amy was really into him or anything. It was just rather fun to be flirted with after such a long time, and, well, who was she to turn down the free drinks? Never bite the hand that feeds. "You're going to regret that, big boy," she told him, "If you can't tell, I'm Scottish. We're born with high alcohol tolerance."

The consulting detective, who had been half-listening, half-still-trying-to-do-his-job, turned to look at Amy questioningly. "Wrong," he corrected, "Alcohol tolerance has nothing to do with nationality or genes. It depends on how much you've eaten beforehand, your size, gender, and the rate at which you consumed the alcohol."

She turned her attention away from the bloke buying her drinks and smirked at Sherlock. A plan was brewing in her mind. "Listen here, Sherly," Amy said, "Everyone knows that Scots can drink. I could drink you under the table right here, right now."

Sherlock shook his head. "Listen here, Amelia," he replied, "Based on your size, gender, and how much you've eaten today, I know right now that you'll be affected by the alcohol quickly. You'll be drinking no one under the table."

Amy cocked an eyebrow. "Prove it then, big science man."

He glared at her, more preoccupied by the new mission to prove his scientific reasoning to be true. "Get me whatever she has," Sherlock ordered to the bartender, "And make sure it is the exact amount that you gave her. This is a scientific inquiry now, and you can not mess up the variables." The bartender gave Sherlock a weird look and Amy laughed. If he wasn't careful, he was going to get that guy's spit in his drink.  
>"Oh, and you can put that on my tab," Amy smiled, then nodded towards the fellow that had bought her drink, "Meaning his."<p>

"Oi!"

Amy turned fast in her barstool, giving the man a look. "Oi, yourself!" she shot back, unable to stop laughing, "This is in the name of science. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"I ain't buying his drinks-!"

She sighed, flipping her hair as if fed up with this issue that was so obviously not worth his time. "If I win, I'll let you have a dance with me, alright? Now can we all just shut up and let the man have his drink?" They didn't know how long Amy had been waiting for this moment, to see Sherlock Holmes piss drunk. And that was going to be her new goal tonight. The case could wait another night.

* * *

><p>The room was spinning, and Sherlock wasn't sure how much he'd drank. He'd lost count, plus he was too busy focusing on acting less drunk than Amy. Meanwhile, she sat beside him at the bar, giggling. Sherlock hiccuped, which only caused her to go from giggles to straight out laughter. "Oh my God, you're drunk," she said breathlessly through her laughs, tilting her head back, "Sherlock Holmes is drunk!"<p>

Sherlock tried not to smile but failed, and held up a finger to his lips. He shushed her. "Shut up, will you?" he asked, "John can't find out."

Amy laughed even harder, the noise of it even louder than the music, and she tipped back further until she was almost falling off the bar stool. Luckily, her alcohol supplier caught her. She looked at Sherlock and giggled conspiratorially at him. "Gotcha," the man said from behind her, smiling wide. The word almost made Amy sober up as she was reminded of the Doctor, who she was starting to think had just abandoned her. "Now, how about that dance?"

She gave him an odd look. "I don't know if I won," Amy replied, then looked back at Sherlock, who was downing the rest of his glass. She smiled, almost fondly before looking back. "Yeah, I think I won. So fine. Lead me to the dance floor, big fella."

Sherlock set down his glass as he watched the pair head off towards where the jukebox was playing music. He felt a bit of jealousy creep up on him as he watched the pair and got up. He ordered another drink.

Meanwhile, Amy started dancing. She wasn't the type that simply swayed her hips and grinded with her partner. She wanted to jump and spin and wiggle about, but that wasn't what her partner wanted, it seemed. He grabbed her hips possessively, turning her around so that she was facing away from him, pulling her so that they were right up against each other. He started moving his hips into hers, and Amy squealed.

"Now, hold on, Mister," she said, laughing a bit as she tried to turn around, "I promised a dance with you, not to be making babies in the centre of a pub!"

The man ignored her though, and kept his grip on her hips so that she couldn't turn. He moved her hips for her. Amy started to get annoyed. Who the hell was he, thinking he could force some gross dry-humping in public? She knew there was something slimy about him, and now it made sense. Of course had to be a perv. "Oi, let go of me," she told him, getting serious. She was getting even more irritated that he was killing her buzz, "I mean it."

"Just enjoy the dance, sweetheart," he murmured into her ear, "Make it worth my money." His voice in her ear felt dirty and gross, not to mention the words making her feel like some cheap whore. Which she wasn't, no matter what people said about kissograms.

Amy tried to wriggle out of his grip again. "Get off me!" she yelled over the music. He kept ignoring her though, and she felt his wet lips on her shoulder. She was just about to kick him in the shin hard, when suddenly she felt a hand on her arm, yanking her away with a lot of force from the man. The man yelled something, but Amy was too focused on the fact that someone else was going to get punched for that too. That was definitely going to bruise.

"Hey!" Sherlock called loudly to him. Amy rolled her eyes as she watched him sway over here.. Of course it was him. Well, at least she'd feel less sad about punching the person who "saved" her.

"She owes me a dance," the man argued. Both of them were glaring at each other, their eyes boring holes into each other with their chests starting to puff out. Meaning a fight was going to happen.

"Sherlock, let's go," Amy said, pulling on his arm, but he didn't budge. The whole room was spinning a bit and the redhead decided she couldn't be around negative vibes. They were just killing her fun, all of them, and if they didn't leave, she was going to go all angry-drunk Scottish on their arses.

"Owes you?," the detective echoed the man, seeming to want to take the angry drunk role for her, "You know who this is? She knows the Doctor and they save planets together! This one too, apparently, so I think you still owe her!"

Amy watched people around her give them odd looks. But she didn't care. She ignored the sadness that came with the Doctor avoiding her and instead felt a swell of pride. "Yeah!" she said, "I could go back and make sure you were never born… Guy!"

"What's your name, mate?" the man asked, ignoring Amy, his eyes focused on Sherlock.

The detective smiled. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, and I'm going to have to fight to the death with you for messing with my dear friend here."

Her eyebrow rose up at that. Sherlock was always saying he didn't have any friends. The man opposite him smirked. "Well, I'm Adam Woodley, mate," he answered, "And you best be careful. I've got friends in high places that wouldn't mind snapping you like a twig."

The bartender, hearing this, nervously came over, but Sherlock was busy thinking. Adam Woodley. Where'd he hear that name? It took him a second, the alcohol still affecting him, but then he remembered. "Oh! Adam Woodley!" He looked over at Amy, who looked confused and like she still wanted to go, her hand on his arm. "The one that Violet told us about!" he explained.

Tom seemed to stop at that. He narrowed his eyes. "What'd you say?" he asked, "You know my name? You know Violet Smith? What'd she say?"

Sherlock burst into laughter. "Oh, it makes so much sense," he sighed, "She said you were a disgusting pervert."

"I ain't no-"

"Aren't," Sherlock corrected, then laughed again, "And obviously you are. You spent almost all your money on getting Amelia and her friend, that's me, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, drunk. Just so you could try to maul her on the dance floor. Honestly, I don't know what it is that keeps the women away, your brutish behavior or the small size of your-"

Sherlock wasn't able to go on making fun of Adam, his opponent's fist connecting with his nose before he was able to say much more. Amy gasped, as Sherlock reeled back. When he got back up, he didn't look quite so amused. Blood was starting to drip from his nose, but now he had his fists up in a challenge. "Oh, come on," he said, tilting his head with mock pity, "You're going to surprise attack someone while they're laughing at your lack of intelligence and possible sexual overcompensation? Not fair!"

"Let me at him!" Amy cried, lunging forward at the grown man. She'd show this Adam what happened when you messed with the great Amelia Pond and Sherlock Holmes. She was just about to pounce on him too before Sherlock turned around to face her, grabbing both of his shoulder to keep his balance.

He shushed her. "No! I want to fight him! I already told him I was going to fight to the death!"

She frowned, crossing her arms as Sherlock turned around to face his opponent, who was cracking his knuckles and looking at the pair like they were the biggest joke he'd ever seen. Amy groaned, not thinking it was fair that she had to look like some damsel-in-distress. "You can't fight him, you lean bean!"

That only bristled his feathers more, causing Sherlock to do an uppercut to Adam's jaw as he laughed at Amy making fun of her own friend. Amy groaned as Tom grabbed his mouth, clenching it tightly and tackled Sherlock to the ground. She walked away a few feet, starting to sober up very quickly. A crowd had gathered around them and were now shouting cheers. The bartender yelled over the crowd, grabbing Sherlock and Tom by their coat collars. Amy rolled her eyes and grabbed her friend, holding him back from trying to restart the brawl. "Get outta here!" the bartender shouted at Sherlock and Amy, "Before I call the cops!"

"Fine!" Sherlock yelled, "Call the cops! They love me over at Scotland Yard!"

"No they don't, you idiot!" Amy hissed, suddenly getting paranoid and pushing him with all her strength out of the doors, "We were leaving anyways! This pub is… Rubbish!"

"Yeah, complete rubbish!" Sherlock chimed in. Amy looked up at him, his bruised face and bleeding nose. She punched him in the arm. "Ow!" he whined, "What was that for!"

"I don't need you fighting for me!" she told him, "I could have taken him." They both stopped a few metres from the pub, leaning against the wall for balance as both had been swaying before. Amy linked her arm with Sherlock's for support.

"I act like myself, people get mad. I try to be a good friend, and people still get mad!" he huffed, his voice slightly drowsy. He sighed, tipping his head against the brick wall. "You're not mad at me, are you, Amelia?"

"No!" she cried, frowning, "Sherly! You're my best friend. I just wanted to kick that guy's arse myself."

He smirked, turning his head lazily to look at her. "You're my best friend too," he said, "Just don't tell John. He gets jealous… Jealous John… We should start calling him that."

Amy giggled. "The only person that gets jealous is you, Sherly," she teased, elbowing him in his side slightly. She liked this Sherlock. He was fun and less reserved with his feelings. Hell, he'd just admitted that they were best friends. Remembering John and how he was back home, how they were here on a case, Amy pouted. "Well, now we can't go back to the bar to find the bike guy…"

Sherlock waved a hand in the air nonchalantly. "We don't need to," he said easily, "I already know who it is."

"Really? Who?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Easy. It was Adam Weathers-"

"Woodley?" Amy laughed.

"Whatever his name is, I don't like him. So it's probably him."

Amy nodded. She was trying to act serious, but she really just couldn't. It either had to do with the fact that she had just pulled Sherlock from a bar brawl or that she was still intoxicated herself. It could have been a mixture of both. "Good enough reasoning for me." She hefted herself up from the wall, regaining her balance as she walked away from Sherlock to the edge of the street, hailing a cab as it neared. "Come on, Sherly!" she said as she got into the taxi, "Let's fix your face."

As Sherlock stumbled to the cab, the redhead decided she really should have done this sooner. Next time she'd have to invite John though. The two of them honestly needed a babysitter. If both had been sober and paying attention, they probably would have noticed the man across the street snapping shots of them. But Sherlock had fallen on his way to the cab, which had caused Amy to burst into hysterical giggles.

* * *

><p>At about 2 am, two figures burst through the door of the Carruthers home, both laughing and shushing each other. It was honestly a miracle that no one had woken up. If they had, they certainly hadn't come downstairs to tell the two to shut up and go to bed. Amy leaned her head against Sherlock's shoulder, the detective leaning back as they both tried not to fall. "We're going to break something really old and expensive," Amy whispered, laughing a bit as they reached the stairs. She frowned a bit as they reached the stairs. "Sherlock… Turn the stairs into an escalator-thingy…"<p>

"Amelia, I can't," he whined. They both paused at the bottom step, looking at the stairs as though they were the greatest obstacle that any human being could ever face. Sherlock looked at her. "We can do this! I am a… A consulting… Detective! And you're…"

"A kissogram!" Amy cried happily. Sherlock laughed, shushing her again. She made a face, the kind a child does when they're about to be caught. "Let's go, Sherly. If I can face Daleks… I guess I can brave the stairs."

"Daleks?" Sherlock asked. They sounded… Familiar. But he couldn't exactly place why.

Amy hadn't expected him to know, even though the Doctor had acted all shocked when she couldn't recognize them. Still, she didn't know how to explain what they were. "Giant pepper-shakers with a plunger for an arm and mean-dictator aliens living inside them" just sounded like too much of a mouthful right then. Instead she just shrugged and Sherlock followed her lead as they started up the stairs. One time, Amy almost tipped back and fell back before Sherlock got her, which then in turn made him almost die before Amy grabbed the banister and saved them both.

They managed to make it to Amy's room, both heading straight to the bed, flopping onto the mattress face-down. Sherlock sighed into the blankets, both staying in complete silence for a long moment until Amy suddenly realized something. She shifted her body a bit more to his direction. "Oi, don't you have your own bed, Mr. Holmes?" she asked.

He groaned, the sound muffled. "But it's so far!" Sherlock complained. He too turned to Amy. She propped her head up on her pillow and looked at him. All the lights were off, and it had been a miracle enough that they'd managed to find the bed. Still, things were starting to set. He could see the armoire on the far wall and the floral wallpaper. Sherlock's eyes focused on Amy's face, distinguishing her eyes and lips and pale skin and light movement of her chest as she breathed from the darkness. He tried to observe her, like he always did, but nothing new came up. In this case, it was only worse. The only words he could tie to her were funny, ginger, Scottish, pretty, and different. Not at all helpful in finally solving the puzzle that was Amelia Pond. "I'll leave… In five minutes."

She smiled, settling into bed a bit more. "No, you don't have to," Amy told him, "It'll be just like old times, remember?" Back when Amy didn't want to sleep alone, couldn't. Not with that crack in her wall. "You can even tell me a story, Sherly."

"I didn't bring my chemistry book. You're the one with all the stories. Why don't you try one?"

Amy huffed, only pretending to be upset as she rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. "You never wanted to hear my stories," she sniffed. Sherlock had always thought that the space stories were irrelevant, information taking up room in his mind palace. Or at least Amy thought that was his opinion on it.

"That's because you only ever talk about your Doctor when you tell them," he said, "If you talked about yourself more, I might listen more."

"Aw… Sherly, you care about what I say," Amy teased.

"I do," he replied, smiling in the dark, "I like hearing about what you're up to when you're not… With me. It's odd to think anyone can have a life outside my own, and at least yours is a little bit interesting." Though Sherlock could be blunt, he wasn't always truly honest. This time though… His mind didn't have any walls. In fact, it was almost like it was jumping at the chance to finally let out thoughts he wouldn't say otherwise. Like build-up that was finally being released. He looked at Amy for a long moment. "What if he doesn't come back?"

"He will," Amy answered instantly. She'd lived a life fighting everyone's questions about her Raggedy Man. Even in the moments where she had started to doubt him as well. "The Doctor always comes back."

"But what if he doesn't," Sherlock insisted, "What if he comes when you're all… Old. Like 90. You're not going to just jump back into the blue thingy and jet off to Mars."

Amy huffed, "When I'm 90, I'll do whatever I like, Mr. Holmes. Including some time-traveling if that's what I want."

He didn't say anything to that. He couldn't. Sherlock didn't want to think that Amy could just leave him like that. And he didn't want to think that it could affect him. But the alcohol was helping him think clearly. Not intelligently or enough to go looking for clues, but in a way that Sherlock never thought clearly. In that moment, the detective thought about Amy leaving him, and he knew what it'd do to him.

It'd absolutely destroy him.

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	25. The Hangover

**HEY LOOK AT ME BEGGING FOR FORGIVENESS AND OFFERING A NEW CHAPTER AS A CHRISTMAS PRESENT! No, but seriously SORRY for taking so long with this. I've actually been working on it real slowly for like months, and I've decided that you all deserved some Pondlock. Plus, I didn't want you guys thinking I'd abandoned this, which I seriously won't until it's absolutely finished! I know I have that "review and you get a reply" thing, which I didn't do this time, so I WILL do it with the next chapter which WILL be up much sooner! **

**I'm going to let you guys get to the reading, but FIRST. Remember that I own none of these characters. They belong to BBC, Steven Moffat, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Mark Gatiss. ALSO. I'm publishing all my stories to a new site. It's Inkitt, and it's actually PRETTY dang cool, so check it out! Merry Christmas, guys! And enjoy your present(: **

While Amy had seemed to love "Drunk Sherlock," she wasn't the biggest fan of "Hungover Sherlock." Or at least what she could remember of him, which wasn't much seeing as it lasted about thirty minutes and Amy was hungover, herself. No, apparently Sherlock remembered some trick he learned from a Russian to cure hangovers, and it hadn't made its way out of his mind castle yet. The only bad thing was that he would _not _help Amy. Sherlock knew that she had challenged him and tricked him into getting drunk, which had fouled up their whole investigation. So, he did his best to annoy her.

"Get up," Sherlock said, coming into the room for about the hundredth time that morning. By then it was precisely 8:30 in the morning. Sherlock had already risen out of bed two hours prior, done his magic trick, then tortured Amy by coming in every fifteen minutes, opening all her curtains to let the sun come in and practically blind her. Right now, she was buried underneath her blankets and sheets, finding solace in the darkness there. Sherlock started to pull on them. "Amelia Pond, I'm not afraid to rip these sheets off you.

"You should be," a muffled voice replied from the ball of blankets. There was a moment of silence. "Don't. I'm naked under here."

Sherlock looked around the room. "No you're not. I don't see any clothes and seeing as you hardly keep your clothes off the floor when you're _not _coming down from a hangover, something tells me you wouldn't put the effort in _now_."

"I hate you."

He sighed, deciding to sit on the bed beside her and plopping some papers that Sherlock had printed out onto where he thought her stomach was. "While you've been detoxing, I did some research on the bar we were banned from," Sherlock said, "I did most of it from my phone seeing as this place doesn't have wifi, let alone a damned computer or printer… So I headed down to the local library."

Amy made a grumbling sound that could be interpreted as _How the hell did you do all of this before 9 in the morning_? or _Please leave before I violently kill you_.

The consulting detective continued. "The bar is owned by Tom Williamson," he said, "I asked around about him, and from what I've heard he sounds like an unusual sort of character." He paused, glancing down at the blankets for some sort of reply from Amy. He didn't get one. Still, Sherlock smirked, "Don't tell me you don't want to know more."

Finally, Amy gave in. She groaned loudly, yanking the blankets down from over her face and throwing the pillows out of her way. Her red hair was everywhere, her eyes squinting as they tried to get used to the new light, still smelled a bit like the bar, and she was in the same clothes that she had worn last night. "I want you to _leave my room_!" Amy answered, trying to glare, "Or at least make me some coffee."

* * *

><p>"This coffee is disgusting," Amy said, shaking her head and frowning deeply into her mug.<p>

"You asked for it," Sherlock said simply with a shrug, passing by the table with his own perfect cup of tea and dropped the papers in front of Amy once more. He had agreed to let her shower and get dressed and eat something _only _because he needed her full attention and participation if they wanted to keep on with the case. "This is all the information I gathered from our Tom Williamson."

Amy picked up the papers, leafing through them all. "Okay, but why do we care about the bartender guy?" she asked, "He doesn't really seem… Connected."

Sherlock stood behind her, sipping his tea as he read over her shoulder at his own reports. "If there's anyone that would know about a mysterious cyclist going into his bar, don't you think it'd be him?" Sherlock pointed out, "It's also curious that someone with a gambling addiction and who _owns a bar_ would become an ordained minister."

"I don't know, don't a lot of people with addictions always find some light of God or something?" Amy asked.

"If he found the light, he would have sold the bar," Sherlock argued, then leaned forward and pulled the third page out, giving it to Amy to read, "Not that he has much of a choice. He hasn't paid a single cent on the bar in four years. It'll be repossessed."

The redhead stared at the paper for a minute, took a sip of her crap coffee, and shook her head again. "Sorry, Sherly," she said, "But I don't see the connection still. Why don't we just get John to come back down and go to the bar? He can ask this Tom bloke whether he knows about the creepy stalking bike guy, yeah?"

Sherlock pressed his lips together in a fine line. He knew that there was something peculiar about the bartender. He could remember the bartender being nervous the night before, but certainly not about the bar fight. He had owned that bar for six years and would have grown used to bar fights every now and then. No, he was nervous about something else. It was after… After Adam Woodley announced himself. Yes, Sherlock could slightly make through the drunken haze that he had seen the bartender get upset _after _that fact. So… Why didn't he want people to know that Adam Woodley was at his bar? There was only one way that Sherlock could find out.

"Fine. I'll text John," he said, "You find Violet and see if _she _knows anything about Tom Williamson and Adam Woodley."

"Can I finish my toast first?"

* * *

><p>It took a couple of hours for John to get down there, but in those two hours, Amy couldn't find Violet anywhere. She asked James, but he hadn't seen her either, said that she hadn't shown up for his daughter's piano lessons, that she hadn't even phoned him to explain it. He was just as worried as Amy and Sherlock in fact. Or at least, Amy. Sherlock was busy studying the furniture again.<p>

"So… You two brought me down here… So I could visit a pub?" John asked, looking at the two like they were crazy. Amy was studying her fingernails and Sherlock still had a puzzled look on his face as he stroked his hand over the wood on the loveseat. "You both realize I have a job, right?"

Amy sighed, finally meeting John's eyes. "We followed the biker bloke all the way to the pub," she explained, "And we _would _be able to investigate it, but Idiot over here decided to get us kicked out."

"That doesn't surprise me," John replied. He crossed his arms over his chest. "So am I supposed to wait in the pub and you two both lure him down there?"

Finally, Sherlock spoke, looking up from the couch. "Yes, and try to talk to Adam Woodley. Meanwhile, I've been investigating Tom Williamson," he said, "Amelia's going to investigate James Carruthers."

"What!" the redhead protested, "No way! James didn't have anything to do with it."

"His furniture is so _old_," Sherlock complained, "It doesn't make sense! So, you're going to figure out _why_."

Amy had been about to continue the argument. She didn't think that James was at all involved. He couldn't be. She was convinced that he had a crush on Violet, and while crushes could sometimes get creepy, as Amy knew from her job as a kissogram, she didn't think that James was the type. He seemed to really want to keep Violet _safe_. And Amy would have spoken up about this if her phone hadn't gone off. She instantly took it out of her pocket, much to Sherlock's observation, wondering if it was the Doctor. He didn't text, despite how hard Amelia tried to convince him how much easier it'd be, but he _could _send a message through the TARDIS. Instead it was Violet, which still made Amy sigh in relief. They hadn't been able to find her _all _morning.

Sherlock and John watched as Amy read the message, seeing her brow begin to furrow and her lower lip jut out slightly. "What is it?" Sherlock asked, but he didn't wait for Amy to respond, pulling it from her hands easily and reading it for himself, "_Amy, thank you for your help, but I've changed my mind. I think the healthiest way to solve this problem with the cyclist is just to leave. I've already text James my resignation and I've decided to leave town. Again, thank you and tell Sherlock and John the same_."

There was silence for a long moment. John was contemplating how big a waste it was for him to come out here. He'd had to take a sick day for this, and his work was _really _getting tired of how many of those he was taking. Sherlock was confused but also disappointed. He didn't take cases to help people, not really. He liked the puzzle, and Violet's puzzle had not been solved. Amy, too, was wondering what was so weird about the message.

"I don't think she'd do this," Amy finally said, taking her phone away from Sherlock and studying the message again, "Boys, I don't think this case is over."

"Something's definitely wrong," Sherlock agreed.

"She wouldn't leave," Amy went on, "And she wouldn't quit her job. She has her mum to worry about, remember? Her treatments are done _here_, and that's exactly why she even took the job as a private piano teacher!" No, something really _was _wrong, and they had to find Violet to find out exactly what it was.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was the one that had been able to track Violet down, or at least put in the <em>first <em>step to finding her. Along with Violet, her boss seemed to be nowhere in sight, and neither were answering their phones. Getting Amy to pretend to be Violet on the phone, the three detectives were able to get her credit card information and find out what her last expense was. Two train tickets to London, the train arriving in just an hour. Sherlock called the station next, asking if Violet was still there. But there were no tickets under her name.

"Can you try…" Sherlock replied next, trying to think of any other possible suspect, "What about James Carruthers?"

Amy scoffed from the backseat. John was too busy trying to focus on the road to really argue about how James was _not _the suspect. They all knew what a friendly guy he was. "It's not him!" Amy protested, "No way, you heard him when we asked where she was. He had no idea!"

Sherlock didn't say anything for a moment, but when he met Amy's eyes in the mirror, there was a clear, cocky smirk painted on his lips. "Yes, thank you," he said to the train station employee, then clicked his phone off and spoke to Amy, "Well, maybe Carruthers _didn't _know where she was this morning, but he knows where she's going to be at 3 o'clock. His name is on those tickets."

The redhead shook her head. No. James wouldn't do that, and he certainly wouldn't be running away with Violet when he had a daughter to take care of. There had to be _some _decent parents in the world, right? Still, it seemed like James had lied to them that morning. And he _still _wasn't answering any of their texts, even as Amy messaged him furiously to find out what the hell was going on.

"Amelia, I don't know why you're defending him," Sherlock sighed.

"Well, he _did _seem like a nice guy," John replied.

"I don't see why you're so _suspicious _of him, Sherly," Amy retorted, "Is this something to do with the furniture?"

"Possibly," Sherlock replied flippantly, "No time now. John, get the car. We've got a train to catch."

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